World's Finest Assassin and His Eternal Lover
by LockedAndLokied
Summary: The Kents disappeared off the face of the Earth eight years ago. Jon, Clark, and Lois were just suddenly gone, without a trace, without a reason. Damian had all but given up on ever seeing his best friend ever again. Until he was kidnapped while on a date, and his kidnapper turns out to be his long-lost friend, all smiles and grins, but also with the mission to kill Damian.
1. Kidnapped

"You look absolutely dazzling tonight," Damian said, grinning at the pretty lady sitting across from him.

Her blush was bright in the dim candle light. "Oh, you," she said, waving her napkin at him.

Damian smiled and shrugged, giving her a I'm just telling the truth look. She smiled, shifting forward a bit. Damian took a slow sip of his wine, savoring the bitter sweet taste. It was not his favorite, but it was hers. "So tell me, Julie," he said, leaning forward onto his elbows. "Modeling. Why that?"

His date, Julie, giggled. "Besides being able to go on dates with handsome men like you?"

Damian winked at her, but nodded. He really could not care less about her answer, but he had only been in her company for half an hour and their entrées had yet to arrive. How did his father do this on a regular basis? Damian only managed once in a while to keep up appearances. And he certainly did not bother maintaining the same playboy persona as his father. He could pretend to be oblivious, rich, and snobbish, but he was not going to be known as an airhead.

"Well," Julie said, smiling wider, "It's easy. There's not much work that goes into it. Natural talent is all it takes. And it comes with a lot of nice pluses."

"Mm," Damian said, nodding. He wondered if he should mention the lipstick on her teeth.

"What about you?" Julie asked. "You decided to take after you father and take over Wayne Enterprises?"

Damian faked a laugh easily. "I didn't quite take over yet," he said. "I still might go in a different direction. Who knows? I am the heir, yes, but my brother does a decent job running the company as well. We work together, as you know."

"Ah, yes," Julie said. "You have… three brothers, yes?"

"Two," Damian corrected. Jason was supposed to be dead. "I did not know my other brother before his unfortunate… accident." Jason hated it when everyone pretended he was dead while in public, and sometimes even in the privacy of the Manor.

"Oh, right," Julie said. She put a hand over Damian's. "I'm sorry about that."

Damian waved his hand dismissively. "It's okay. Didn't know him anyway. So have you ever thought of pursuing anything apart from modeling? I mean, it's a great job, but what hobbies are you passionate about?"

Julie grinned. "Well, don't tell anyone, but I really love baking. I love decadent dessert foods. I know what you're thinking. You're a model, and you like eating desserts?" Julie laughed softly. "But it relaxes me."

Damian shook his head. "No, no, I think that's a great hobby to have!"

"You really think so?" Julie asked, leaning forward more. She was nearly halfway across the small table.

Damian's smile was a touch strained. "Certainly."

Just then, the waiter came with their food, making Julie lean back into her chair to allow room for her food. They continued chatting through dinner and dessert, where Damian had to insist on Julie ordering something. To "treat herself" since he was paying. Damian was a little disappointed when she caved. The sooner they got out of the restaurant, the sooner they could get on with the rest of the date, and then Damian could go home.

Finally, after dessert was done, washed down with one last glass of wine, the two left the restaurant. Damian took Julie to Gotham's famous rose gardens, 500 acres of land set aside specifically for roses of all kinds and colors. Paved paths wound through the gardens, the perfect place for a stroll under the moonlight.

They walked side by side. Julie did most of the talking. Damian only said a few things to keep the conversation going and make it sound like he was actually caring.

"-my parents live in Wyoming," Julie said. "They disapproved of me moving halfway across America. But they're okay with it now that I'm getting somewhere."

"Any siblings?" Damian asked. "You seem like someone who has several."

Julie laughed. "Yes. I grew up in quite a big family." There was a soft rustle in the roses on Damian's right. It was probably just a bird. "Three older brothers, two older sisters, and a younger brother and sister."

"Wow," Damian said with a low whistle. A rustle behind him, from one side of the path to the other. He peered over his shoulder. That was quite a fast animal. "So you're third youngest out of eight children? I thought I had a big family."

Julie smiled. "Yeah. But we're all off pretty well, I think. Growing up, money was a bit tight, but now it's just my younger siblings living at home, so Mum and Dad are doing better." A soft rustle again, behind them. Damian glanced behind him again, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"And what do your older siblings do for a living?" He asked, turning back to Julie, only to find her gone. Damian froze, immediately on guard. He turned in a slow circle. "Julie?" he called.

There was no answer. "Juliet!" Damian called louder. A shudder of a rose out of the corner of his eye, and Damian's attention snapped towards it. Then, from his right side, a blur of black rushed out of the roses.

Damian turned too slowly. The black blur crashed into him, and Damian braced for impact, but it never happened. Instead, he felt himself leave the ground, arms gripping him tightly. Damian's eyes snapped open again, and he drew in a breath. He was alarmed to find it rather difficult.

A second later, he noticed that he could barely see anything. Clouds. Fuck, he was flying.

Damian tried to see who his kidnapper was, but their face was hidden under the black hood of a sweatshirt. Their grip on him was too strong for him to struggle much too. Damian tried to draw in another breath, but he could not. He was too high up.

He could not breathe. Damian started panicking a little. They were also moving too fast for Damian to see anything. He had to close his eyes against the biting wind. Somewhere after that, he lost consciousness.

* * *

When he came to again, Damian found that he was lying down. He sucked in a long breath, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Damian sat up quickly. His eyes darted around the small room.

It was roughly circular, with a low ceiling. The walls, ground and ceiling were rock, rough rock, like it had been blown up to create the room. So he was underground somewhere.

He was lying on a cot, one of the only furnishings in the room. A small table was shoved against the other wall. A rug was spread across the stone floor and there was a stool by the table. A large candle sat on the table, its flame still.

But at least that explained the sweet vanilla smell. Damian raised his arms to stretch, but the jangling of chains made him pause. His right wrist was shackled to the post of the cot. Damian growled, pulling and examining the shackle. There was no lock on it. In fact, there was nothing on it. It had either been melted together after his hand had been put in it or his hand had been forced inside.

Damian's eyes narrowed as he scanned the room again. There was a door. Well, it was slab of wood roughly fitted into the low arch. It was slightly ajar, and Damian saw something moving outside in the next room.

Damian pressed his left hand against the rocky wall. It was freezing cold, despite the warmth in the room. Okay, so he was pretty deep underground. At least the depth of the Batcave, or even more. Damian frowned. It would prove harder to find him if he were deeper, but his family would find him, without a doubt.

Then, the wooden slab of a door was pushed open, and someone dressed all in black stooped through the door. They had short, dark hair, and the sweatshirt was gone. They wore a black turtle neck and black jeans, ripped at the knees.

He looked up, saw Damian and smiled. Damian glared at him, taking in his image. The man was tall, and his face well sculpted. Emphasis on sculpted. It looked too perfect. He had bright blue eyes and his smile was calm and relaxed. Certainly not something a kidnapper would give his victim.

He looked slightly familiar, actually.

"Who are you?" Damian demanded.

The man laughed, the sound full and cheery. "Mr. Wayne," the man said. "You don't remember me? I'm slightly offended. Here, maybe this'll jog your memory." The man reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a pair of thick black glasses and a worn baseball cap. He put the cap on his head and then slipped the glasses onto his face. He looked up again, smiling wider.

Damian gasped. It could not be. There was no way. He had been missing for eight years now. He and his family were assumed dead.

"Jon?" Damian asked with a near silent whisper. But of course, he heard.

"Hello again, Dami," Jonathan Kent said, rolling back and forth on his feet like an excited child. "Aren't you going to welcome your best friend back to Earth?"


	2. Prisoner

Damian was completely flabbergasted. He was well versed in knowing what to say in all situations, but apparently What-To-Say-When-My-Childhood-Best-Friend-Kidnaps-Me-After-Disappearing-Without-A-Word-For-Eight-Years had not been covered. So Damian was at a loss of words.

"Jon…" was the only thing he managed.

Jon laughed again. "It's okay," he said. "I get it. Hard to wrap your head around it right? I guess I do look pretty different. And so do you. Taller, broader shoulders. You walk with confidence instead of arrogance now, so that's a good thing. You look good!" Jon said. "You're… what? Twenty-three now?"

Damian still did not manage to say anything. He made a few noises, but no actual words.

"So, you must be wondering a lot of things," Jon said. He grabbed the stool and pulled it towards Damian, sitting down. "And I'm sorry about the whole situation and everything, but I can't trust that you don't carry around a Kryptonite ring like your father did," Jon said, laughing.

Damian licked his lips, his eyes never leaving Jon's face. He still could not believe he was alive. And that he kidnapped Damian.

"Why'd you kidnap me?" he asked, snapping out of his shock.

"Oh, he speaks!" Jon said. Then, he shrugged. "It's my job," he said.

Damian's eyes narrowed. "Your job? To kidnap me? What kind of job is that? Who're you working for, Jon? And why can't you tell me? You and your entire fucking family disappear off the face of the Earth without a word eight years ago, and no one has any idea where you all went. Suddenly you show up and kidnap me and tell me it's your job?"

Jon stared at Damian for a moment, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"Take off that ridiculous cap and those silly glasses!" Damian yelled, his anger growing. "And you will answer me, Kent!"

Jon's eyebrows rose a little more. Then, he stood up. "You hungry, Dami?" he asked. "Want water?"

"I don't want anything from you," Damian snapped. "And don't call me that."

"Okay, Mr. Wayne."

"Don't call me that either," he hissed.

Jon laughed. He walked through the little door again, coming back a few moments later, without the cap or glasses and set a glass of water on the table across the room. Then, he picked up the entire table and carried it over by the bed, setting it down.

"Just in case you change your mind," Jon said, nodding at the water.

Damian glared at him, refusing to speak with him.

Jon seemed completely unfazed, however. He flounced out of the room, humming under his breath. Damian could see through the cracks in the slab of wood that he was doing some general cleaning – straightening the cushions on the couch, folding up his black sweatshirt, grabbing a small object off another table.

It kind of bothered Damian had Jon was so casual about the entire kidnapping thing. It was like he did not see what was wrong with it. What happened to justice and truth? Damian gritted his teeth together. Something had happened to Jon during the eight years. Damian just knew it.

"Jon," Damian called, his voice still hard and cold.

Jon appeared in a blur of black, using his super speed to bring him into the room. "Yes, Damian?" he asked. It also bothered Damian that Jon was dressed all in black. It did not suit him.

"Where are we?" he asked, not expecting Jon to answer. He just need to study this new Jon a little better.

"At the top of Mount Everest," Jon said.

Damian's mouth opened, then shut. Then, his eyebrows furrowed. "That's not possible. The air pressure up here would not allow me to breathe."

Jon shrugged. "But we are. I flew us over here. And this chamber was created by magic. I mean, I probably shouldn't be able to light a fire due to the extreme cold, but I did. I'm not sure on the physics behind it all."

"Mount… Everest," Damian repeated, feeling a little dazed. He was having a tiny bit of doubt now that his family will find him. "And why… are we here?"

"Well, first of all, very, very, very slim chance of anyone finding us here, and the portal opens up here. It's signal is strongest here," Jon explained.

Damian cocked his head to the side slightly, a small frown on his face. "Why're you telling me all this information?"

Jon grinned. "Because you can't escape, so you can't tell anyone. Besides, I haven't talked to anyone my age in a long time."

This only made Damian only more curious as to where Jon has been.

"Don't underestimate me, Kent," Damian warned. "I'm more dangerous than I used to be. I could very well escape and have you captured."

Jon laughed. "But you can't, see? Don't worry. You won't live long enough to escape anyway."

Damian sucked in a sharp breath. "So you didn't just kidnap me. You're going to kill me."

"Eventually. Depends."

"On what?" Damian snarled. "Good behavior?"

Jon just shrugged. "It just depends."

"Okay, listen, you imbecile," Damian growled. "I don't know what the fuck happened to you or what you went through. But killing? That's a fucking disgrace to the symbol you used to wear on your chest. You were a good person, Jon. But whoever you're working for now? That makes you no better than any of the other criminals I put behind bars each night for rape, theft, and murder." Damian shook his head in disgust. "You repulse me, Kent."

Jon was silent for a moment. He gave Damian a blank look. Damian, a master at reading people, could not tell what Jon was thinking. A moment later, Jon reached for the cup of water and held it out to Damian silently.

Damian glared at it, scoffing. He turned away from Jon. He heard Jon set the glass back down and slowly stand up. He walked out of the room, and then it was silent. There was no movement from the other room, nor could Damian see Jon through the cracks.

Damian sat there another few minutes. Then, when he was convinced Jon was no longer there, he started working on the shackle on his wrist. He tried squeezing his hand through the metal band, but his hand was too big. Damian cursed quietly. There was no way he was going to get hand out of there, even if he had something to grease it. Jon must have melded it back together while Damian was unconscious.

He pulled at the chain, trying to determine if there was a way to get the other side of the chain could be taken off of the post. But the post of the cot had been driven into the rock, so there was no way of getting the shackle off without heavy duty tools or Jon's heat vision.

Damian growled. He smacked the glass of water off the table, sending if flying into the rock wall. The glass broke, water spilling everywhere and soaking into the rug. Damian felt a small twinge of satisfaction.

Five minutes later, where was a gentle whoosh of air, and Jon appeared back in the room. He glanced at the glass and water, but he did not say anything. In his hands he held a pizza box and on top of it, a pie.

Jon set the pizza on the table, looking over at Damian, who made a point not to look back.

"I got pizza," Jon said. He opened the box, and the delicious aroma of pizza wafted into the air. It smelled really good. "It's from Italy. Vegetarian, if you're still… vegetarian," Jon finished.

Damian refused to say anything.

"I also got an apple pie. I remembered you once said you don't really have a preference of pie, so I got my favorite. Hope that's okay?" Jon asked.

Damian still did not answer.

Jon sighed softly. "Damian, would you like some? You didn't eat a lot on your date. So you must be hungry. You really should have some water too."

"Why are you offering to keep me comfortable if I'm a prisoner?" Damian asked, his voice biting cold.

Jon took a large bite of pizza, still steaming hot. "Just because you're a prisoner doesn't mean you can't be comfortable, Damian. You don't need to suffer unnecessarily through unfavorable situations. Make them more favorable. Have a slice of pizza."

"Fuck you, Kent," Damian spat out. "I'm going to sleep." He lay down, rolling over so that his back was to Jon and pressed against the freezing stone as close as he could without touching.

He screwed his eyes shut and ignored Jon's presence, only a couple feet away.

It was not easy for sleep to overtake him.


	3. No Escape

Damian woke up when his cheek accidentally pressed against the cold and rough stone, shocking himself away. It took a moment for Damian to get his bearings and remember where he was.

He sat up, rolling his neck from side to side. The cot definitely was nothing compared to his bed back at the Manor and the penthouse. He moved his right hand to rub his eyes, but the rattle of chains made him glare down at the shackles.

Then, the door opened, and Jon walked in. He had on a black t-shirt and another pair of black jeans again. He smiled at Damian.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Jon said. In his hands were a tray of breakfast foods, all steaming hot. "I brought breakfast."

Damian narrowed his eyes at Jon, then at the tray he set down on the small table. Jon sat down on the stool, crossing his legs at the ankles. He smiled at Damian.

Damian frowned at him. Oddly enough, Jon did not make Damian want to punch him. Sure, he was angry at Jon, but he had not crossed the threshold to violence yet, which was surprising since the space between anger and violence was nearly nonexistent in Damian's case.

Jon just infuriated him, but Damian had no urge to hurt him. It was not because they used to be best friends because Damian used to want to strangle Jon every chance he got. So Damian proceeded with caution.

"Coffee?" he asked.

Jon's smile brightened. He was practically beaming. "Of course!" He handed Damian a mug of steaming coffee. Then, he placed the cream and sugar in front of him.

Damian narrowed his eyes at the offered additions. Then, he just sipped the black coffee. He could almost feel the tension easing out of his body. It was his favorite coffee, from the island of St. Helena. It was also really expensive coffee, so he did not treat himself to it often.

"Where'd you get this coffee?" Damian asked, taking another sip.

"You like it?" Jon asked, sitting up straighter. If Jon had not kidnapped him, Damian might have believed that Jon's excitement was real. "It's from St. Helena Coffee. Your favorite, right?"

"How'd you know that?"

Jon went a bit red. "Er, overheard you on your date."

"So you've been stalking me all night?"

"Yeah, sorry," Jon said. He quickly grabbed a plate and a set of utensils. He handed it to Damian, who calmly set his mug of coffee down and took it slowly.

"Did you steal the coffee?" Damian asked.

Jon's eyebrows furrowed. "No, I bought it."

"Where did you get the money?" Damian asked.

Jon dug into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. He opened it to show Damian. It was stuffed with hundred dollar bills. Damian reached for one, holding it up to the candle light. It was real.

"How do you have so much money?" Damian asked.

Jon tucked his wallet back into his pocket. "It was provided when I took the job."

"So you volunteered to kidnap and kill me," Damian said, his tone icy again.

"Not really. I was given the job, and I accepted because there would be consequences otherwise. Like any other job," Jon said.

Damian snorted, taking a bite of his scrambled eggs. They were delicious. "Right, like any other job."

That ate in silence for a while. Then, Jon spoke again. "So the portal will be opening in a couple days' time," he said. "So we won't have to stay here too long."

"So you won't get caught easily," Damian said.

"And so I can proceeded with finishing my job faster," Jon said casually. Damian hated that tone.

"Why don't you just kill me now?" Damian asked, spitefully. He did not want to give Jon ideas, but he was a bit upset.

"My boss needed you for something first," Jon explained. "That part would come later."

"And your boss… is on another world? You mentioned a portal."

Jon nodded. "It's not really a world. It's a little chuck of space in between worlds. Kind of like limbo."

"Which is why we never located you," Damian said.

Jon nodded. "Yup. That's why."

Damian shook his head. Jon was either really stupid, telling Damian all the critical information he needed to know, or really confident in the fact that Damian was not escaping. But he underestimated how stubborn Damian could be.

"I need to piss," Damian announced.

"Oh, bathroom's just outside this room, on the left," Jon said. "It's just a really long hole down, so don't fall in. Really don't want to go rescue you from down there," he said, wrinkling his nose at the thought.

Damian silently lifted his shackled hand.

"Oh," Jon said. He quickly set down his plate and took Damian's hand in both of his. His hands were smooth, unlike Damian's calloused ones from years of crime fighting. Jon looked up to meet Damian's eyes. "I'm going to melt them off, okay? Don't- Don't move."

"Just do it," Damian said through gritted teeth. He watched as Jon lowered his eyes again and red beams hit the metal. Damian could feel the warmth of the metal against his skin but it did not burn, nor did Jon's heat vision touch his skin.

Then, Jon gently pried the metal apart and Damian pulled his hand out. He stood up, giving Jon another look before heading out of the door. He paused at the doorway, but Jon made no attempt to follow. So Jon really must be stupid.

Damian rolled his eyes and went to the bathroom. It was dark inside, save for a tiny candle. It was also colder than the rest of the hideout. He relieved himself and then went out into the main room. It was about twice as big as the room Damian had been in the past two days. There was a larger table on one side, a couch in the middle, and a small bookshelf on the far wall.

There was a door of some sort on the ceiling. Damian stood on the couch and popped the door open. It was a long, long tunnel up. It would require someone with the power of flight to go up. Damian frowned and put the door back in place. He went over to the bookshelf.

By the bookshelf was a black bag. Damian peeked inside and found a bunch of children's toys inside. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why did Jon have a bag of children's toys? They were all in perfect condition, a lot of it in store packaging.

He turned towards the bookshelf, reading the spines of the few books on it.

"Anything that interests you?" Jon's voice asked.

Damian did not bother answering his question, nor did he turn around. "You know they'll be looking for me, right?"

"I know," Jon said. "But no one will ever find us."

Damian whirled around this time. "You're wrong," he hissed. "My family will scour the entire Earth looking for me. Because that's the kind of loyalty we have," he said.

Jon laughed. "Well, they'd better hurry."

Damian glared at him, his hands curling into fists, but had no intention of actually moving to hit Jon. Instead, he just glared at him while Jon smiled back.

Then, Jon broke the silence. "So, what books do you like? I can go grab some for you, if you wish?"


	4. Ever Rest

Jon stepped into the room, a plastic bag in his hands. He smiled at Damian, who did not bother looking up from his book.

"I brought lunch!" Jon said cheerfully, setting the bag down on the small table.

Damian flipped the page.

"Sandwiches," Jon continued. "And smoothies. I didn't know what you wanted so I just got a banana-peanut butter one and a mango peach. Which one do you want?"

"Give me the peanut butter one," Damian said, holding his hand out, but still not looking up from his book.

"I knew you'd want that one! Should've gotten two," he said. He handed the smoothie over to Damian. Then, there was a rustle of the plastic bag. Then, a foil wrapped sub sandwich was placed next to Damian.

"What's this?" Damian asked, finally glancing up as Jon settled on the stool.

"Spiced tofu. Vegetarian, don't worry," Jon said, taking a big bite of his own sandwich. "It's really good, try it!"

Damian hummed quietly, taking a couple sips of his smoothie. It was really good. He continued reading, shifting on his stomach. Damian loved reading, but for some reason, he found it impossible to read while sitting. So Damian usually stretched out horizontally on some kind of surface.

"What are you reading?" Jon asked, peering over his shoulder.

"Something on Einstein's theory of relativity," Damian murmured.

"Seriously?" Jon asked, making a face. "That sounds horribly boring."

"It really isn't. It's the only good reading material on your bookshelf."

"Hey, don't bash my romance novels."

"Tt."

Jon made a noise. Damian looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. Jon just smiled. "Sorry," he said. "Just haven't heard you make that sound in a long time."

Damian's expression turned a bit confused. He shut up his book and sat up, crossing his legs on the cot. He unwrapped his sandwich, examining its contents before taking a bite. It really was good.

"You like it?" Jon asked.

"It's acceptable," Damian said. He took a long sip of his smoothie. When he finished half of it, he handed it back to Jon, who took it with a surprised expression. "Where do you get all this food?" Damian asked, unfazed.

"Oh, uh, all over the world. The most authentic places." He looked at the banana peanut butter smoothie in his hand. Damian nodded at him, and Jon beamed. He took a sip and sighed happily. "After all, I can fly. So why not put it to good use?"

Damian snorted. "Good use."

Jon rolled his eyes. "You know what I meant. Also, I meant to ask this morning, what's your favorite kind of food? Is it still Indian cuisine?"

Damian paused a moment. He was very surprised Jon remembered. "Yeah, actually. You- You remember?"

Jon turned red. He quickly looked away. "I- uh, I have some things I need to do. Excuse me!" he got up quickly. He put the smoothie back on the table and left his half eaten sandwich as well.

Damian blinked at the door that had been thrown open and the breeze that followed Jon's exit. A small smirk quirked onto his face. It was a comfort to know that Jon was still as easy to tease at ever before. Damian was not too curious as to where Jon had run off to. He took another bite of his sandwich and went back to his book.

Jon is gone for the remainder of the day, but when he returns, he has several boxes in his hands. Plastic dolls, clothes for said dolls, a child's plastic cooking set, and some blocks.

Damian was nearly finished with his book.

"What are the toys for?" he asked.

Jon looked over at him, but did not answer. He put the toys with the rest of the toys in the black backpack. Damian is a bit confused, but does not bother asking again. He is distracted by the food in Jon's hands.

"Indian?" Damian asked, sitting up with a sly smile.

Jon blushed. "Maybe." He hands over the bag. Damian practically snatches it from his grasp. He opens the containers. "Oh, mhmm," Damian moaned, breathing in the spicy aroma. "Yes…"

Jon sat down on the stool, just staring at Damian. Damian pulled a plastic fork out of the bag and opened the grabbed the first container. "Chicken tikka masala?" he inquired.

Jon nodded, still watching.

Damian pulled over the container of rice. He was halfway to pouring the curry into the rice container when he paused. "Oh," he said, as if first noticing that Jon was there. "Er, you don't happen to have bowls, do you?"

Jon jumped up, grabbing the bowls and was back within a second. He watched as Damian dished out the rice and scooped the curry over it generously. He took the bowl he was offered with a small smile. "Thanks," he said.

Damian shrugged. "You bought the food," he said. Damian took a large bite, his eyes fluttering shut and he let out a quiet, breathy moan. "You got this in India?"

Jon nodded. "Took me a while to find a restaurant that did take outs though. But as authentic as you can get," he said. He watched, eating slowly as Damian devoured the food. It was a bit comical, and Jon was impressed, but he was more content to see Damian enjoying himself.

"So," Jon said. "How have you been? I've missed eight years of your life."

Damian paused only for half a second before answering. "I've been… well. Haven't had good Indian food in a long time, but life's been okay, I guess."

"Just okay? What, is Damian Wayne, owner of a multi-billion dollar company, son of Bruce Wayne, Batman's heir not good enough?"

"Co-owner," Damian corrected. "Tim helps. Everyone just assumes I own it because my name is on every document in the entire place." He chewed his chicken thoughtfully. "And I don't want to sound shallow, but… no, it's not good enough. I don't care about the money, the glamor, the fame. I just-" Damian sighed. "I don't know. Want something more than just that?"

"What more can you want, Damian?" Jon asked, sounding a bit bitter.

Damian studied his former friend. Jon suddenly looked really young. Not just twenty one years old like he should be. No, he looked much younger. Eight years younger, when he was only thirteen. The last time Damian saw him.

They had just save three hundred people from a collapsing building and even rescued the people trapped under it. The two of them were dusty, sweaty, and exhausted, but they were very proud of themselves.

Jon could not stop smiling on their entire flight back to their headquarters, and Damian had to suppress his grin several times too. It was a normal day. They exchanged banters throughout the flight, but none of their threats and jabs at each other held any heat.

Damian had the plane on autopilot, so when he eyelids started drooping, he did not bother trying to stay awake. Jon had also fallen asleep, his head lolling to the side, resting on Damian's shoulder.

They stayed asleep on each other a couple hours after the plane arrived back at their headquarters.

And they probably would have stayed asleep had their fathers not been pounding angrily on the glass of the plane, demanding to know why they were not answering their communicators.

Nothing had seemed amiss that day. But when Jon, Clark, Lois, even Krypto disappeared off the face of the Earth that night, the entire superhero community was thrust into chaos.

Bruce had spent many days up, doing everything he could, calling in every favor, to search for them. Diana had to physically wrestle him and tie him to the bed to get him to sleep. For several years they looked, all over Earth, all over the universe.

But they were just… gone.

Until now, that is.

Damian's breath caught in his throat. He had nearly forgotten that this was not another sleepover in Damian's room in the Manor. Jon had kidnapped him and was planning on killing him in the coming days. But Damian could not help but feel like he was not.

"A friend," Damian finally answered. "I just want a friend that could listen to me… anytime, anywhere, without questions."

"Your little team of superheroes not good enough friends?"

"They were my teammates, Jon. Yes, they were also my friends, but…" Damian's eyes narrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. "I wasn't invited to their family gatherings, nor were they invited to mine. I did not go to school with them. I did not play video games with them. I did not talk to them about girls or sex or-"

"Okay, okay," Jon said, raising his hands. "I get it. You were hurt. I'm sorry. But I can't- I can't just let you go, Damian."

"I wasn't expecting you to," Damian grumbled. "You asked what I wanted."

They finished the meal in silence. Damian pushed his soggy rice around in his bowl, no longer having an appetite. Jon noticed, and he stopped eating as well. He cleaned up the containers, gently taking the bowl from Damian's hand.

Then, as he was heading out, he turned back around. "Get some rest," he told Damian. "I'll be outside, on the couch, if you need me."

Damian's eyebrows furrowed. "On the couch? You sleep in here too?"

"Of course," Jon said. "It's where I live when I have business on Earth."

"So this is your bed?" Damian asked, gesturing to the cot he was sitting on.

"Yes," Jon said slowly.

Damian frowned. "Well, that's not fair if I get to sleep in your bed while you're on the couch, is it?"

Jon shook his head. "No, no, it's fine. I don't mind."

Damian stood. "Take the cot, Jon. I'll be fine. I took it last night without even asking, so you should have it tonight."

Jon hesitated a moment more before relenting. "Alright. I'll go put out some more blankets for you after I clean this up."

Jon threw the trash away and put the dishes in the sink. Damian did not know if the sink actually worked or it was just for show, since they apparently were on Everest. Damian settled on the couch, which was actually quite large and comfortable. He started blowing out the candles around the room.

Jon appeared again a moment later, two thick blankets in his arms. "Here," he said, handing the blue one to Damian. He set the red one on a nearby table. "I'll leave this one here in case you're cold, okay?"

Damian nodded, pulling the blue blanket over him. Jon turned back around at the doorway to the bedroom. He gave Damian a small smile. "Good night," he said.

Damian paused a beat before answering. "G'night."

Jon shut the door as he went in. The room was plunged into darkness after that.

Damian waited, measuring out deep, steady breaths for several hours. Once he was absolutely certain Jon was asleep, he rolled off the couch.

Damian proceeded slowly and silently. He felt his way to the end of the couch, standing on the arm. He then reached straight up, feeling for the little handle on the door. He was glad that the trapdoor opened silently too.

Damian's heartbeat, while still slow and steady, was loud even in his own ears. He certainly hoped Jon would not wake up. Damian hoisted himself up into the dark tunnel, pressing his hands and feet to the walls to stay up. He then shut the trapdoor underneath him.

Damian started climbing. He scaled up the rocky tunnel with efficiency, even though he could not see a thing. The walls were freezing cold and they cut into Damian's hand from the roughness. After a minute, Damian could not feel his hands anymore. But still, he gritted his teeth and climbed.

It grew colder and colder as Damian climbed, and he still did not know how much farther he had. Damian just knew that he had to be closer to the top than the bottom. And he had to be more careful now. If he slipped, he would drop down who knows how many feet, crashing into the trap door. And if not dying, alerting Jon for sure.

So he kept climbing. It also got harder to breathe. The cold air made Damian's teeth chatter, so he had to clench down to avoid that. His breathing also became a bit quicker, his lungs burning with the effort.

Damian still kept climbing. Five minutes later, his head bumped against something. Damian pressed his right hand against it, feeling around for some sort of handle. He could not feel anything, but he found the handle, grabbed it and pushed hard.

The door opened, slowly. Damian was met with a gust of wind that felt more like a punch to the gut than anything. Damian was blown out of the tunnel. Damian could not breathe. It felt like everything in his body had been immediately frozen. He tried and tried against to climb to his feet, but he could not. He was pretty sure he would have been blown off the mountain had his fingers not latched to the trap door.

Damian could not tell if he was breathing or not anymore. Logically, it was impossible for human beings who lived down at sea level all their life. Damian, while very physically capable, was not trained in surviving at high altitudes, way below freezing temperatures, with a half-Kryptonian kidnapper. It was completely dark, so Damian also did not know if he was actually unconscious, or he just could not see.

He could not see, he could not breathe, and he could not feel anything anymore. He was definitely going to die, right there and then.

Then, the latch ripped off the door, and Damian was swept backwards, off the side of the mountain, and he felt a lurch in his stomach, as he fell through the air.


	5. Cold As Frost

Damian opened his eyes slowly. He tried to move his arms and hands, but it hurt very much to do so. He cried out.

Immediately, Jon's worried face was hovering over his. "Dami?" he asked, his hand touching Damian's chest, then cheek. "Thank Rao, you're awake," he said, letting out a long relieved breath. "Oh, fuck, how are you feeling? Here." He grabbed a glass of water, then gently eased Damian up a bit more. He pressed the warm glass against Damian's lower lip, tipping it back a tiny bit.

Damian looked around. He was back in Jon's room, lying on the cot. A small fire crackled in the other room and a large tub of water sat on the other side of the room. Damian himself was naked, saved for his dark green briefs.

A small trickle of water ran down Damian's throat, warm and soothing. But after a few seconds, he shook his head. Jon pulled the glass away.

"You need water, Dami," Jon said softly. "You should drink some more."

"Hurts," Damian rasped near silently.

"I know, I know," Jon said, biting his lower lip. "I'm so sorry." He brushed his hand gently over Damian's forehead, sparking a tiny bit of irritation in him. But Damian was too focused on the pain. He had learned to ignore and work through pain at a very young age, but it felt like the pain from coming from inside him. The most he could do was not whimper. "You have frostbite all over, Dami," Jon said gently. "I did my best to warm you up and everything, but it's still pretty bad."

"Doc… tor," Damian whispered.

Jon looked even more torn. "But…"

Damian let his eyes slide shut. He had seen the damage done to his hands. While everything else hurt pretty bad, it was the worst from his hands. They were waxy and he could not feel anything other than the burning pain from them. He definitely had severe frostbite there. Everything else was probably superficial frostbite.

"Okay, okay," Jon said, his words now in Damian's ear. Damian could feel his shaky breathing on his cheek. "I'll get you to a doctor." Jon's face was pressed into Damian's shoulder now. "Fuck, I thought I lost you for sure," he said into his skin. "I was so scared."

Damian would have snorted, had he been able to. He let his eyes open slowly again. "Jon," he whispered.

Jon looked up, his eyes bright with tears. Fuck, he was crying.

"Please," Damian managed.

Jon nodded quickly, getting to his feet. He wiped at his eyes, disappeared into the other room for a quick moment before coming back with the two blankets. Damian did not protest when Jon started wrapping him up in a thick bundle, only wincing silently every time he was jostled.

Finally, Damian was covered from head to toe, only his eyes peeking out of the red and blue cocoon. Jon quickly pulled his black sweatshirt over his head, then, picked Damian up in his arms.

He pressed Damian's face to the crook of his neck. Damian could hear Jon's heartbeat, fast and loud. He let his eyes slide closed again. Then, he felt the moment of nausea he always had when Jon flew him anywhere. Damian just focused on Jon's breathing and his heartbeat. A few moments later, Jon stopped. Damian felt him running instead.

He opened his eyes a little. Florescent lights burned into his eyes.

"Please, please help him," Jon's desperate plea reached his ears.

There was a response of some kind, and Jon started running again. Half a minute later, Damian felt him being set down on some kind of bed. He was quickly and carefully unbundled. An African woman, dressed in scrubs, snapped gloves on and was shouting orders at other people Damian could not see.

"Sir, sir," the woman said, her accent thick, but her voice gentle, leaning over Damian. "Can you hear me? Please focus on my voice, sir. I need you to take this." There were two pills in her hand. Damian did not move. "It's pain medication, sir. The rewarming process will be even more painful than the frostbites right now." Damian let her push the pills past his lips and he swallowed them dry.

Beyond the bright lights and the shouting of the doctors, Damian saw Jon standing off to the side, wringing his hands and chewing his lip. How dare he looked worried? Damian wished he had the means to physically express the flare of anger.

Then, he was being rolled into another room. A couple doctors carefully lifted him from the bed and placed him gently into a bath of some sort. The water rolled and moved, but it was not boiling water. Damian realized it was a whirlpool bathtub. He was slowly lowered into the tub. The water ran over his cold body, making him feel better and worse at the same time.

Damian tensed, crying out again. The African doctor squatted by him. She encouraged him, putting his badly burned hands into the water, stroking his back as Damian practically screamed and tried taking them back out.

"Shh," she said softly. "It will help, it will help. I know, it hurts, it hurts," she said. "The medication will start working in a few minutes, but we needed to start the thawing process. Shh…"

Jon hovered over her shoulder. He pulled faces at every gurgle and cry of pain Damian made, and Damian wondered what kind of show he was pulling.

When the pain meds did start working, Damian could feel the tension ebbing away. He relaxed into the warm water. The initial feeling of fire in his hands had died down to a dull pulsing feeling and some tingling of his skin.

The doctor placed a towel on his forehead, wiping periodically. "You're doing so well," she said. "You're going to be okay," she said. Damian wanted to tell her to stop babying him, but he was too relieved to say anything.

He closed his eyes, wanting to sink into the darkness and sleep. But he could not when the doctor started talking to Jon.

"How did he get such burn on his hands?" she asked, her voice stern. "And don't try lying to me, boy. There is no way you were climbing up Everest dressed like that."

"No, we weren't trying to climb the mountain," Jon said. "It was- It was a dare. We were going to set out in a couple days, but our friends dared my friend to go find a corpse and I went after him to stop him, but…" Jon trailed off.

Damian cracked his eyes open a bit again. The doctor had stood up, her hands on her hips, lips pursed like she did not believe Jon.

"Fine," she said. "Don't tell me. But I will be reporting this later."

Jon's expression became panicked.

"Please don't!" he said. Damian could not help but feel a sense of victory.

The doctor's eyes narrowed at Jon. "I don't know what's going on, but I will be notifying authorities. If you were telling the truth, you can't go climbing up that damned mountain like that. He could have died, and you could have died."

"Yes, ma'am. Please don't call anyone," Jon pleaded again.

The doctor shook her head. "You cannot sway me. But I will take care of your friend first. His hands are badly burned. By the looks of it, he may not be able to use them again, if they don't get amputated."

Damian jolted, sloshing water everywhere. The sudden movement sent spears of pain through him. Both the doctor and Jon were by his side in an instant.

"No, no, no," Damian said, eyes wide. "I can't- You can't-"

The doctor rubbed his arm. "Hey, hey, shh… What's your name?"

"Da-"

"Robert," Jon interrupted.

The doctor gave him a half glare. She turned back to Damian. "What's your name, son?"

Damian looked over at Jon, then back to the doctor. "Damian."

She sighed. "Okay, Damian." Her accent put an odd lilt on his name, but Damian found it very comforting. She had a very strong motherly sense about her, and Damian could not help but feel a very urgent need to take full advantage of whatever she had to offer. Maybe it was the lack of a good parental figure in his life when he grew up. "Listen, your hands are severely burned. A lot of the nerves in your hands have been damaged. They can easily get infected. Amputation is a last resort, I promise. We will do everything we can before that, okay? But there is a good chance you may not be able to use your hands to their full capacity anymore."

"Wh-What?" Damian asked. "I can't- I can't use my hands?"

She stroked his cheek, making gentle shushing noises. "Not fully. If you do manage to recover full mobility, the nerves are permanently damaged, Damian. I'm sorry."

As long as he can still use his hands. It did not matter as much if he could feel anything with his hands, but as long as he may still be able to use them.

"It's okay," he said softly. "Thank you… Dr…?"

"Just call me Fabunni," she said with a soft smile.

"Fabunni," Damian repeated, trying the name on his tongue, attempting to copy her lilt.

She laughed. "Good try, my boy. It is okay."

"Given by God," Damian then said. Fabunni's eyes widened, a smile stretching onto her face.

"Yes," she said. "How did you know?"

Damian just closed his eyes for a moment, smiling gently. He had studied African culture and history for a couple years in school. Her name meant 'given by God', which at the moment, seemed very true.

Then, she pushed herself to her feet. "We will get you out of the bath now. We will transfer you back to the room and give you some antibiotics for your wounds. Then, we will continue to the next portion of your treatment, okay, Damian?"

Damian nodded. She grabbed a towel off a nearby rack, handing it to Jon with a disapproving frown before leaning back down to help Damian up. Another couple doctors came in, sitting him at the edge of the tub to keep his feet of the ground while Fabunni gently patted the water off his skin. They then transferred him back to the bed.

Back in the first room, Damian was given a loose hospital gown and some oral antibiotics as well as a bottle to continue taking three times a day. Then, Fabunni bandaged Damian's hands and his other wounds, applying some ointment as well. Fabunni ignored Jon the entire time, talking only to Damian, giving him the instructions on how to change the bandages and take care of himself.

Finally, an irritated frown came onto Fabunni's face. She turned to Jon, who stood by the door, watching them.

"You," she said. "Can you go to the front and sign a few papers for you friend? He cannot use his hands for a while, nor is he allowed to walk, so call for someone to pick you up."

Jon looked at Damian, then he nodded. He left the room. After the door shut, Fabunni turned back to Damian.

"Your friend… are you sure you want to go with him?" she asked quietly. "Something is wrong with him, yes?"

Damian's eyes went wide. This was his chance. He had been looking for a chance to escape the entire time, but Jon stuck to him like glue. Fabunni had obviously noticed.

"Damian, what really happened?" Fabunni asked. "You can tell me. I will call the authorities if I need to. I do not want you in danger. You seem like a good man. There is something about your friend that- that just unnerves me," she whispered.

Damian opened his mouth. Should he tell her? She seemed genuinely worried for him, despite being a stranger. He swallowed hard. Just then, the door to the room burst open.

Jon came in, his face furious. Fabunni whipped around. Then, Jon's hand was around her neck, squeezing.

"No!" Damian cried out, sitting up and reaching for her. There was a sickening crack, and then Jon dropped her to the ground. "No, no!"

"Get up," Jon said. "We need to go."

"You killed her!" Damian yelled. "What's wrong with you, Jon?!"

"We need to go, Damian," Jon said again. He grabbed Damian, scooping him up in his arms and flying out of the room.

Damian's eyes flashed from doctor to nurse to patient, all dead. He fought back a scream. He struggled in Jon's arms, but Jon held him tightly. The light lurching of his stomach told him that they were flying again.

Half a minute later, Jon was setting Damian down on the cot again, in the room deep in Mount Everest.

Damian let out a broken sob. "You're a monster!" he said viciously. "You killed them, Jon! And all they did was help me! You might as well kill me right now because I feel disgusted just knowing I'm in the same room as you!"

Jon turned his back to Damian.

"Why did you even bother taking me to the hospital then? If you were going to kill everyone there to hide the evidence, why bother healing me if you were just going to kill me again later? Huh? Answer me!" Damian screamed, tears welling up in his eyes. Damian rarely cried. He rarely let his emotions get the best of him.

Jon stopped. He set down the antibiotics on the table by the cot, his back still to Damian.

"Damian," Jon said, his voice cold.

Damian had his fists clenched tightly, anger and pain fighting for control in his body, making feel a bit woozy. The meds were starting to wear off, so the pain was thrumming stronger and stronger with each passing moment.

"Don't try to escape again," Jon finished. Then, he left the room.

"You should have just left me to die!" Damian screamed at the closed door. He received no answer, so he just hid his face in the pillow and sobbed.

He hated Jon right now. His former best friend, now a cold-blooded killer. Jon, with the smile that used to be brighter than the sun, now had a heart frostier than the polar ice caps. The boy who used to proudly wear the symbol of hope on his chest, now snapped necks without a second thought.

He also hated himself. Had he not tried to escape, so many lives would not have been lost. Had he not asked Jon to take him to see a doctor, Fabunni and all the other doctors would still be alive. Damian wanted to punch a wall, but he was completely drained of strength.

Damian did not know when he fell asleep, but when he woke up again, it was to Jon gently shaking his shoulder.

"Dami," Jon said gently.

"Don't call me that," Damian snapped.

Jon closed his mouth. "Damian," he tried again. "I brought you some food. You should eat something."

"Fuck you."

Jon sighed. "I know you're angry, I know you're upset. But please try to understand."

"Understand?" Damian asked, his voice cracking. "You killed twenty people for what? So they wouldn't tell on you? So you can get away with your kidnapping and murder easily?" he scoffed. "Sorry if I don't agree with you!"

Jon shook his head. "Okay," he said. He was silent for a few more beats. "At least eat something. You don't want to, I get it. You don't want anything to do with me-"

"Damn straight," Damian growled.

"-but you need it to heal," Jon finished softly. "If your wounds get infected or get worse, I'll have to go take you to a doctor again."

Damian's glare was brutal. He wished he had heat vision so he could slice through Jon's innocent, worried face. But he did not. And even if he had heat vision, it was not like he could exactly hurt Jon much.

He snatched the plate of spaghetti from Jon. "Get out," Damian snapped. "Now."

Jon left without a fight, and Damian ate in silence. He lay back down, facing the wall. Jon came in an hour later and took the plate away before leaving Damian alone again.

* * *

"Damian!"

Damian opened his eyes and rolled over onto his back, groaning in pain. Jon stood there with two antibiotics and two painkillers in his hand and a glass of water in his other. He smiled at Damian. "Take your meds and then we'll be off!"

Damian glared at him before taking the pills from him. He swallowed them dry and ignored Jon's offer of water.

"Do you need the bathroom?" Jon asked.

Damian nodded silently. Jon helped him up, and Damian tried shrugging him away. But Jon pulled Damian into his arms. "You're not allowed to walk," Jon reminded.

"I'd rather walk than have you touch me," Damian hissed.

Still, Jon did not let go, carrying Damian all the way to the bathroom. He carefully set Damian down right in front of the makeshift toilet, but he kept a hand on his arm. Damian glared at him, but Jon did not let go.

"Let go of me," Damian gritted out. "What, you can't even let me use the restroom alone anymore?"

Jon shrugged. "Can't be too careful since your last idea. I did mention how unpleasant it would be to fetch you out of there, right? Besides, I've seen you naked a thousand times before. Doesn't matter." Damian was silent. "Okay, fine, I won't look, promise," Jon said.

Damian glared at him a moment longer. Then, he gave up, since Jon was obviously not going to leave. He relieved himself. Then, Jon picked him back up and stepped out into the living room.

Jon stopped in the middle of the living room, just holding Damian there.

"If you're not going to go anywhere," Damian growled. "Put me down."

"Nope, the portal will be here soon. No point in putting you down only to pick you up again," Jon said cheerfully. He tightened his grip on Damian just a little bit. So Damian just suffered Jon's insistence.

A few minutes later, an orange portal blinked into existence in front of them, opening up like an oval doorway.

"Ready?" Jon asked. Without waiting for Damian's reply, Jon stepped through the portal with Damian in his arms.

They stepped out into a large white room. Damian took in his surroundings quickly, paying attention to as much detail as he could. The room was approximately thirty feet high and at least three times as long. It looked like a Greek temple, but pure white, and completely void of people and decorations.

Doors lined the lengths of the room on either side. The portal closed behind them and the room in the mountain disappeared. Jon gently set Damian down.

"Welcome back, Jonathan," came a silky voice.

Damian turned towards the front of the room, and he could not hide his gasp. There was about ten white steps leading up to a large, gold throne. Sitting on the throne was a short, stocky man, dressed in black and dark blue robes. He had ridiculously large ears and his hair was slicked back, pressed to his head like a second skin.

But the thing that shocked Damian the most was two capsules attached to the ceiling, hung above the throne.

In the left capsule, floated Clark Kent, complete with a blue flannel, jeans, and those ugly boots he always wore. His glasses were slipping slightly from his face. His head had dropped to his chest, his arms spread on either side of him. It reminded Damian of something he once saw in a church. On a large cross at the front of the room, a life-size Jesus had been nailed onto the cross, his head dropping to his chest, blood running from wounds all over his body.

Clark looked kind of like that. Unconscious, unmoving, surrounded by an odd red light.

Damian's eyes slid to the right capsule. Lois Lane-Kent floated in the capsule, similarly to Clark, her arms open on either side of her. But her head was thrown back, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly agape. Her hair spread out like a fan around her. The light surrounding her was a soft blue.

Beside him, Jon dropped to a knee. "Magnus," he said, bowing his head and addressing the small man on the throne.

The man licked his lips, smiling. "And this- This is Damian Wayne, yes?"

"Yes, sir," Jon said, still kneeling.

"Good," the man purred, clasping his hands together. "Perfect, actually. Jonathan, string him up, will you? Then, you are excused."

Jonathan rose. "Yes, sir," he said, his voice monotonous and lacking emotion. Jon turned to Damian, who was still in shock. Jon grabbed Damian's right wrist. Damian glared at him, trying to wrest his wrist out of Jon's grip, but he could not break the superhuman strength.

A glowing length of rope of some sort flew out the ceiling, into Jon's hand. Jon tied the rope around Damian's wrist tightly.

"Hey!" Damian protested. He went to punch Jon, but Jon caught his hand.

"Don't," Jon said, his eyes and voice cold. He tied up Damian's left wrist as well. Then, Damian was suddenly jerked up into the air until he was suspended about ten feet in the air, at the same height as Clark and Lois. Jon floated up slowly, another glowing rope in his hand. He bound Damian's ankles until he was tied eagle spread in the middle of the room. Damian struggled, but he could not do much. The ropes were pulled taught. But oddly enough, no matter how much he struggled, the rope did not irritate his wrists or ankles.

"Now, Jonathan," the man, Magnus said, standing up. "You may leave."

Jon bowed his head at Magnus once more before walking out of one of the doors, without a second glance at Damian.


	6. Blackmail

"Damian Wayne," Magnus said, walking over slowly and looking up at him. "Wayne Enterprises' young entrepreneur, feisty and hard to get along with, the last Robin to your father's Batman, the true son of Bruce Wayne, but still not good enough for Daddy!"

Damian glared down at him. "You know nothing about me."

"But I do," Magnus said with a loud laugh. "I know everything about you, Damian. I have been biding my time, you see. Long before you were even born. I witness the birth of the Bat, Damian. I witnessed the rise of the son of Krypton. I saw the day that a league of justice was formed. A group of people with a special set of skills that thought they could defend the universe in the name of justice!' He laughed again, cruelly. "But what do they know about justice? I'll let you in on a secret, Damian. There is no such thing as justice. We're all going to burn in hell. It's only who gets the better seats." His grin showed off yellow, rotting teeth, crooked and chipped in places. If Damian used to think Joker's smile was bad, at least the clown had competent dentist!

"You're wrong," Damian said.

"Oh, but you seemed so convinced of that, baby bat," Magnus said. He grinned wider at Damian's narrowing of eyes. "Daddy taught you well, didn't he? Corrupted your mind? I'm telling you again, Damian. There is no justice. Your little Justice League is a joke. Everyone has a weakness. They have a weakness. And I will capture and kill every last one of them. Then, with them out of the way, I shall rebuild the universe!" He cackled. "It will be a paradise for all."

Damian groaned. "Do you know how overdone that plan is? So many have tried and so many have failed."

Magnus laughed. "But you don't get it do you? I've already taken their beacon of hope," he said, gesturing to the catatonic Clark. "I've taken the Bat of Gotham," he said. "And with Bats Jr. here, Daddy will come running soon, and you know it."

Damian snorted. "Here? Where is here? Don't take it as a compliment, but my father spent eight years searching for Superman and still has not found him. What makes you think he'll find me?"

"Why, Damian, how nice of you to ask," Magnus said. "I'll let him find me. But in the meantime, I'll just pluck his children from Earth one by one." He mimed shooting four things with finger guns. "Then, Daddy will have no choice but come here. And behind him, the rest of the League will just fall in line. After all, in the end, the golden age must end."

Damian smirked smugly. "Again, so many other have tried before you. And they took a lot less than eight years. And I've never even heard of you."

Magnus shrugged, unbothered. "Not yet, but one day, I will be the great Magnus, Maker of the Universe." He raised his hands in the air.

Damian rolled his eyes. "So you want to be God?"

"Well, that would be a nice plus side." Then Magnus frowned. "Stop talking! I did not bring you here to chat, young bat. I'm going to have some fun with you. After all, I haven't had a new toy in… why, eight years."

From the ceiling, a compartment opened and a long robotic arm came down. Then, another arm came down, holding a long tray of sorts. On it was torture device galore.

"See anything you like, Damian?"

Damian's eyes ran over the tray. There were knives of all sorts, a Heretics fork, a circle with spikes driven into it, facing inwards, syringes filled with all types of liquids of ranging colors. He did not answer Magnus.

"No? Then shall I choose for you? We have all the time in the world, Damian," Magnus sang. "I'm in no hurry, if you have a preference."

Damian gritted his teeth.

"Alright, I'll start on some familiar ground, okay?"

The robotic arm picked up a knife, small but sharp.

"You were raised in the League of Assassins, right? Formidable, they are. Pity you didn't stay with them. Maybe you would have lived longer," Magnus mused as he watched.

The robotic arm approached with the knife. It cut slowly through the shirt Jon had given him. His chest had been relatively more protected than his hands and feet, so there were no actual healing frostbites on his torso.

The point of the knife dug into his skin, but it did not cut through skin. It just left a line of white that quickly faded to a swelling pink.

"Let's see," Magnus said thoughtfully. "Should I start with your chest? It is already covered in scars, so what's another one? Yes, I think I'll add to your collection first. Then, I'll mark up another place. Maybe your pretty face. Turn that frown upside down for you. Maybe I'll draw some inspiration from Gotham's favorite terrorist clown. Heard he's got a nice smile."

"Nicer than yours," Damian spat. And technically it was true. Magnus' mouth was a disgusting mess.

"Hm, we'll see if we can make yours just as nice then. But some other day," Magnus promised. He nodded. "Proceed."

The knife went back up to his chest, right under his throat. It pressed down, a little harder, right on the swelling pink line before. A few beads of red welled up in its path down, but just tiny dots. Then, the knife came back up to the same spot. It traced over its path again. This time, the line turned bright red, blood gathering and following the knife down. It dripped off Damian's chest and landed on the ground, ten feet below, by Magnus' feet.

"Again," Magnus commanded. "I want him crying."

"I'm not going to cry," Damian sneered.

"Not yet," Magnus said. "But you will."

The line was traced again. This time, slow and steady. Damian gritted his teeth against the pain, watching the drops of blood starting to drip, steadily.

"More," Magnus commanded.

The knife came back up, etching into the cut once more. Damian bit back a groan, his eyes squeezing shut. The cut kept getting deeper and deeper. One more time and he would be slit open from his chest to stomach. His blood was dripping fast now, and Damian had to blink back the darkness at the edge of his eyes.

Magnus leered up at Damian, stepping forward, under the dripping fall of blood and opened his mouth, letting the beads of red run into his mouth and down his throat. Damian just hung there, unable to do anything but watch, disgusted.

Magnus stood there for a long time, just drinking the blood that leaked down until the flow of blood slowed to a sluggish drip. Then, he closed his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. A smear of red wiped across his lips.

"You're quite delicious, young bat," Magnus purred. "But my time here is almost up. I must retire for the night, so I will let you down. But tomorrow, we will see each other again, I promise." He smiled, and Damian grimaced. His teeth were painted blood red, giving him a grotesque look. It was absolutely revolting, one of the ugliest things Damian had ever seen in his life, honestly.

He snapped his fingers. "Injection."

The robotic arm set the bloody knife down, picking up one of the syringes. It then approached Damian again. Damian glared at it, trying to move his head away, but the arm plunged the needle into his neck, injecting whatever poison was in the syringe into Damian's body.

Immediately, his strength was sapped from his body. His head slumped to the side. Another snap of Magnus' fingers and the glowing ropes unwound themselves from Damian's arms and legs, and he dropped like a rock. He collapsed in a bloody heap at Magnus' feet.

Magnus smiled down at him, laughing cruelly. "Look at you, baby bat," he sneered. "Not so powerful anymore, are you?" Magnus kicked Damian's shoulder, turning him over onto his back, into the small puddle of blood. "No strength to fight back anymore, right? Yes, a special serum of mine. Saps the strength of human beings. I had use a modified version to Superman, but it worked." Magnus cleared his throat. "Jonathan!"

A few moments later, one of the doors behind Damian opened.

"Yes, sir?" came Jon's calm voice.

"Take our guest," Magnus said. "See him to his room, and keep him locked up there tonight. But do clean him up first. I don't want blood stains on my beds."

"Yes, sir," Jon said. A few moments later, he slung Damian over his shoulder. Damian let out a weak groan as pressure was applied to his stomach.

"Alright. Good night, Jonathan."

Jon gave Magnus a nod before turning and walking out of the hall. Damian was completely boneless, unable to fight back even if he wanted to. He just let himself be carried away, completely aware that he was bleeding all over Jon's sweatshirt.

Jon pushed open a door with his foot and a minute later, sat Damian down on top of the toilet lid, carefully arranging him so he would not topple over. Damian watched with his head lolling to the side as Jon pulled off his sweatshirt and rolled up the sleeves of his flannel. Then, he leaned forward and turned on the water of the large bath.

They waited in silence as the water filled up. Jon check the temperature, adjusting it a little before turning the water off. Then, he knelt in front of Damian. He pulled the shredded shirt from Damian's body, careful not to jostle him too much.

He dropped the torn shirt onto the ground and reached for Damian's pants.

"Don't," Damian growled, glaring at Jon.

Jon looked up and met his eyes, but he did not stop. Damian was in no shape to stop him either. He could not lift his arm, or even tense his muscles up. Jon carefully pulled his pants down, one leg at a time. He also removed Damian's socks. Then, he started unbinding Damian's hands, his touch gentle. He examined his hands for a moment.

He dropped Damian's hands back into his lap, then reached for the waistband of Damian's briefs.

"Jon," Damian warned. "I said, no."

"They're soaked with blood," Jon said calmly. Then, he gently eased his underwear off.

Now, it was not like they had not seen each other naked before. But that had been back when they were younger. When no one really cared, since they were both guys, and since they were usually too tired to bother anyways. After all, best friends all see each other naked at some point.

Damian closed his eyes as Jon slowly eased his underwear down, being mindful of the burns on his legs. When he was finally undressed, Jon picked him up bridal style and gently placed him into the bath. Then, Jon reached for a washcloth and dipped his hands into the water.

"I don't need you to wash me," Damian bit out.

Jon said nothing, continuing to run the cloth down Damian's arms, back, and cleaning the cut on his chest. He worked his way down Damian's body, never once looking at him, nor speaking to him. Damian did not know if it he preferred it or not.

Jon scooped him out of the bath, no doubt drenching his flannel and leaned Damian up against the wall. He took off his wet shirt, revealing a perfectly toned chest. Then, he started wiping Damian down with a towel. He made sure to avoid the cut. Then, he carried Damian out into the room.

He lay Damian down on the bed, disappearing for a moment to get the first-aid kit. Jon settled on Damian's right side.

"Here," Jon said. He held up the orange antibiotics bottle first. Then, he tipped out a couple pills. He gently pressed them to Damian's lips. Then, he eased Damian up into a sitting position and made him drink some water. Damian took a sip, enough to swallow the pills, but Jon still kept the glass to his lips.

"I don't want anymore," Damian said.

"You need water, Damian," Jon said softly. "Drink."

Damian glared at him a moment more before taking a few more sips. "There."

"All of it," Jon pressed.

Damian glared at him even harder before relenting and quickly drinking the entire glass.

Jon set the glass aside, then proceeded to apply an oily substance on Damian's chest wound. It did not sting, nor did it make it feel any better. Damian narrowed his eyes.

"What is that?" he asked.

Jon did not answer.

"I don't know if you've ever done this before," Damian said dryly, "but you're actually supposed to clean the wound with alcohol and stitching it up before applying anything and wrapping it up?"

Jon still did not respond, just continuing to gently apply the ointment. When he finished, he grabbed the gauze and started wrapping up Damian's chest. Damian just sighed heavily. Apparently Jon decided to ignore him now.

When Jon finished, he started applying the same ointment to Damian's hands. Damian's palms were tender and burned badly with each touch, but he let Jon do whatever to it. Jon wrapped up his hands, then proceeded to repeat the process with every tiny cut on Damian's body.

When he was finished, Jon put the first-aid kit away.

"I'll bring you some food, and then you can rest," he said before leaving the room.

Damian watched the door close and scoffed. He still could not move at all, so he had to lie on the bed, mentally straining to regain control of his body, but not being unable to. Would the poison ever wear off or would he be a person stuck in a lifeless body forever?

Five minutes later, Jon returned, a tray of food in his hands. He set the tray down by Damian's bed and sat down again. Jon pulled Damian up into a sitting position, propped up by several pillows. Then, he took the spoon, dipped it into the steaming soup, then brought it to his own lips, blowing on it gently before moving it towards Damian.

"I'm not a baby, Jon," Damian said harshly. "You don't need to feed me, nor do you need to blow on it before giving it to me."

Still, when the spoon nudged his lower lip, Damian let his jaw relax. Jon gave him a small smile before repeating the process. Damian's face burned a light red as he suffered the embarrassment of having his former best friend and current kidnapper feed him and blow on his food.

Still, Damian ate the entire bowl of soup, with chunks of gooey grilled cheese sandwich in between bites. When it was all said and done, Damian was able to move his fingers a bit now. They twitched occasionally, but overall, Damian still could not move.

Jon tucked Damian into the large bed. "Good night, Damian," he said quietly. "Get some rest, okay?"

Damian watched from the bed as Jon took the tray and walked towards the door, flicking the light off as he went. He turned to close the door, and Damian murmured, "Night."

Jon paused in the doorway. Damian could not see his reaction, but the pause told him enough. Jon closed the door and Damian was thrust into pitch black darkness once more. He closed his eyes, and an uneasy sleep fell upon him.

* * *

"Damian!" a hushed whisper hissed. "Damian!"

Groggily, Damian opened his eyes to have a bright light pointed in his face. He scowled, turning away. "Wher…?"

The light moved out of his eyes, to the side, and Damian could not see Jon smiling down at him.

"Get up, get up!" Jon said.

Damian yawned. "What?"

"Get up!" Jon said, pulling on Damian's wrist.

"No, go away," Damian grumbled. "It's been three hours. I want to sleep."

Jon groaned softly. "C'mon, Dami." He threw the covers off of him. "You can sleep later."

"What are you doing here anyway?" Damian asked grouchily. "It's the fucking middle of night or something."

"Yes," Jon said slowly. "And you're a Bat. You live for the night, Damian. Now get your ass out of bed before I carry you again."

Huffing loudly, Damian pushed himself out of bed. He stretched, rolling his wrists and neck. "I'm not wearing anything," he said flatly.

Jon groaned before putting the flashlight into his mouth and then pulling his own shirt over his head and handing it to Damian. "There," he said.

Damian took the shirt, but raised his eyebrows. "I don't even have underwear on."

"The shirt's big enough. You'll be fine," Jon said. "Now let's go!"

Damian pulled the shirt over his head. It was warm and it smelled like Jon. He ignored that fact. "Where are we going?"

Jon flashed him a grin. "My room, duh."

"And why would I want to do that?" Damian asked, immediately suspicious.

"Just- I'll explain as we go." He pulled Damian out of the room and down the long dark hall. The flashlight was their only source of light. Their bare feet echoed on the cold stone floors.

"Explain."

"You saw my parents," Jon started after a brief silence.

"Yes, I did," Damian said. "I assume you're being blackmailed?"

Jon nodded curtly. "Eight years. Magnus promised to spare my parents' life if I did whatever he said."

"Does he even have the power to? How does he have so much power? He's tiny, Jon. You can easily overtake him," Damian pointed out.

Jon laughed ironically. "Don't you think I've tried? Before, my parents were only held in their room, and I wasn't allowed to see them. But after I disobeyed Magnus several times, he built those cages for them. That was nearly seven and a half years ago, Damian. They haven't moved since, but they don't age, and they aren't dead. I can hear their heartbeats."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Jon shook his head. "Not even the worst part. But we'll get there." He took a deep breath. "I was thirteen when I was brought here, yes? Thirteen. Wow, that seems like a lifetime ago. Dami, I lost my teenage years to this- this giant cage. It's a prison. I had to learn to hide, to lie, to do everything I was taught not to do. Magnus tested me over and over again until I could pass all his tests. And I found out that the easier way to pass his tests were to do them. Correctly, the first time."

"So was kidnapping me a test?"

"No," Jon said quietly. "You were my first mission."

"First? In eight years?"

Jon nodded miserably. "I wish you weren't. I wish you weren't here. You got hurt because of me."

Damian let out a long sigh. "So… everything was just an act?"

"Generally, yeah."

"And all those people you killed? Fabunni?"

Jon winced. "I'm so sorry about that, Damian. I didn't want to, but Magnus has eyes on me at all times. If I didn't- If I didn't kill them…"

"He would have hurt your parents," Damian finished.

Jon nodded.

Damian sucked in a sharp breath, trying to control his anger all over again. "Then why aren't you acting right now?"

Jon's shoulders sagged. "Nighttime is the only time I have any kind of freedom. Magnus- Magnus is human. But he was greedy and wanted power. He knew well enough he could not get all the power he wanted in the years he had left to live, so he bargained for immortality."

"Magnus is immortal? But not invulnerable, right?"

Jon shrugged. "He seems pretty invulnerable. I shot him with my heat vision once. I just burned all his hair off and singed his clothes."

"So he's pretty much indestructible."

"I didn't say that," Jon said. "I'm pretty certain he can be killed, somehow. But he is immortal. But the price for his immortality was for every eight out of twenty four hours of the day, he goes into this comatose state. He cannot hear, see, feel anything around him. He usually picks nighttime, when everyone's asleep. So we are free to talk now."

Damian looked around him. "But during the day?"

"He has eyes and ears everywhere. He can see through space, so everything during the daytime, he probably witnessed."

Damian tensed. "Even when you were… bathing me?"

Jon shrugged. "Probably."

A shiver ran through Damian's body.

"You should probably get used to it," Jon said dryly. "There is no such thing as privacy in this place."

"So Magnus trained you to do evil things for him because he's fucking useless and threatens your parents' wellbeing if you don't?" Damian concluded.

"Pretty much. And truth be told, he is really fucking useless. When he made the deal with that witch that granted him his immortality, he was rather vague, so the witch made it so that Magnus would only have his immortality as long as he stayed here, in this little pocket universe. Should he leave, he would age like normal humans," Jon explained. "But this universe is his own. He can do whatever he wants to it, as long as he can speak the command and wave his hands around to channel the power."

Damian cursed softly. "Doesn't mean we can't beat him."

Jon shook his head sadly. "You don't get it? We can't beat him, Damian. I can't beat him. It's- It's not possible."

Damian turned on him, grabbing his bare shoulders. "What is wrong with you? Have some hope! There's always hope. You just need to find it. You can't lose it, Jon. I know you think it's hopeless because you've been here nearly a decade, but I'm here now. Two brains are better than one. We'll get out of here, we'll get your parents out of here, and we'll trap that insipid Magnus in his own little world."

Jon blinked at him, looking a bit shocked. "Okay," he said softly.

Then, Damian froze. He looked at his hands. They were still bandaged, but he had just grabbed and shook Jon's by the shoulders, and they did not hurt. He pulled his hands away, ripping the bandage off. His hands were perfectly healed.

"What the fuck?" Damian asked, looking his hands over in the flashlight beam. He looked at Jon.

Jon smiled. "It worked!"

"What worked? The weird oil you put on me?"

Jon nodded. "Yeah. Found it in one of Magnus' secret stashes of precious whatevers. I thought it might be a healing balm of some sort, but I never really got hurt, so I couldn't try it on myself."

Damian stared at him a moment longer before pulling his shirt up and pulling the bandages down. Not even a scar.

"That's- That's amazing," Damian said, eyes wide. "What is it?"

Jon shrugged. "Not sure. Magnus told me to pick some up when I took a trip to another planet."

Damian's eyes narrowed. "I thought I was your first mission."

"First official mission, yes," Jon said. "But I ran errands before. Just never to Earth. Magnus likes collecting precious things."

"Well shit," Damian said.

"Good stuff?"

"Amazing. Jon, this could revolutionize modern medicine," Damian said.

Jon grinned and shrugged. Then, he stopped in front of a room. He put his hand on the handle and opened it silently. It looked pretty similar to Damian's room, but much more lived in. It was kind of a mess, but it seemed pretty homey.

Damian looked around, his gaze falling to the books to the guitar leaning against a wall. "Wow, you've lived here alone for eight years?"

Jon gave him a sly grin. "Mm, not quite," he said. Damian's expression became confused. Jon smiled wider. "You wanna see something?"


	7. Hope

Jon opened a door, and stepped through, Damian following.

They stepped out into an adjoining bedroom, one strewn with toys. Damian saw toy packaging everywhere, and the black backpack that he saw by the bookshelf before.

It was dark in the room, but a small nightlight had been placed on the bedside table. And curled up on the bed, clutching a large panda plushie, was a young girl.

She was peacefully asleep, her long black hair falling in front of her face. Jon sat down at the edge of the bed. He smiled up at Damian, who wore a confused look.

"This is my little sister," he said softly. Jon reached over, brushing the hair out of the little girl's face. "Isabella Hope Kent."

"You- You have a little sister?" Damian asked. "How old is she?"

"Eight in a couple months," Jon said quietly. "You said I had to find hope? She's my only hope, Damian."

"H-How?" Damian asked.

Jon smiled wryly. "Mom was only two months pregnant when we were taken. She gave birth to Isabella here. Magnus had already locked Dad away, and the minute Mom got cleaned up, Magnus shoved her away too. So I raised Isabella here, in this prison. I was so scared, Damian," he said, his voice growing even softer. "She didn't have a proper mother to care for her, and I was thirteen. I could barely take care of myself, let alone a baby. But I did it," he said, pride seeping into his voice. "I raised her all on my own."

"So you stayed to keep her safe?" Damian asked.

Jon nodded. "Yeah. Magnus promised that he would not try to get Bella to work for him if I did anything he said. And so I did."

"Has she…" Damian trailed off a moment. "Has she ever seen Lois or Clark?"

Jon nodded. "A few times. I snuck her into the throne room on her birthdays, and she would just sit on the ground, looking up at them for hours on end. And she would ask me to tell her stories and-" Jon's voice cracked, and he stopped talking.

"I'm sorry, Jon," Damian said. "I'm sorry I misjudged you, I'm sorry you had to go through… all this."

Jon waved his hand. "No, you had every right to judge me like that. I just hope you can… forgive me."

"I do," Damian said solemnly. He paused then said, "Jon, I'm really sorry this all happened. I should've tried harder to find you guys-"

"Dami," Jon said, cutting him off. "There's nothing you could have done. You had no idea what happened. And we all go through horrible shit at one point or another. It's part of the job. I had a decent childhood, so it kind of made sense something fucked up would happen. You had a rough childhood, and now everything got better for you."

It was a point Damian could not exactly argue with. "Still," he said. "I'm sorry."

They looked at each other for a moment, understanding. Then, Jon stood. "C'mon, let's go," he said. "There's something else I need you to know." He pressed a gentle kiss to his sister's forehead then walked out of the room. He closed the door behind him and sighed. "Damian," he said. "I'm going to be leaving tomorrow."

Damian's eyebrows furrowed. "Where will you be going?"

"Back to Earth." Jon paused, his face pulling into a grimace. "I'm going to go get Tim."

"Tim?" Damian echoed. "Tim… my brother, Tim?"

"Yeah," Jon said. "I'm sorry, Damian, but-"

"No, no," Damian said. "You're doing what you can to protect your family, I get it. If you get him back, maybe he can help us devise an escape plan. He is the brilliant one."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "You're over your 'I hate Drake' phase? I thought that'd never end."

"Tt," Damian scoffed. "I was a rebellious teenager, Jon."

"And even now, you're still rebellious," Jon said with a teasing smile.

"Am not," Damian said, glaring at Jon.

Jon's eyebrow arched further. "Oh? Shall I remind you of how you were crying in pain last night?"

"You're an ass," Damian grouched, pushing Jon, who did not even sway.

Jon opened his mouth to respond, but he quickly shut it, his face going red. He coughed, averting his eyes. "Um, you should probably get some sleep," he said loudly.

"Okay," Damian said, the corner of his mouth twitching. He had not missed Jon's reaction. "I'll see myself back to my room then."

Jon shook his head. "I'll walk with you."

They walked silently back down the hall, a comfortable, normal distance between them. But Damian was an asshole, and he knew it. He would intentionally step a tiny bit closer so their arms would brush accidentally. Jon would immediately take a large step to open the gap between them.

But he only managed a few times before they were back in front of Damian's room. Damian pulled the door open, leaning against it. Jon fidgeted with the flashlight. "I'll be gone tomorrow morning," he said quietly. "Three days again, assuming Tim's not harder than you were."

"Are you saying I'm easy, Jon?" Damian asked with a teasing tone.

"No!" Jon said quickly. "I meant- Damian, you're so mean!" He smacked Damian's shoulder, and Damian ducked away, laughing. "I can only assume your brother would attempt to escape a few times, and knowing my luck, he'll be carrying Kryptonite with him."

"Well, bring me back a souvenir. Indian food would be nice."

"I can't do that, Dami," Jon reminded. "Magnus is watching remember?"

Damian grew serious. "So what will I be doing here? I'm not in any kind of prison, and I didn't see anyone else here besides your family and Magnus."

Jon shrugged. "He doesn't need guards or anything. He's so confident in his own powers he would let you roam free in this place. But, Dami, don't- don't challenge him, please?" he asked in a soft pleading tone.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"He's dangerous, and you can get seriously hurt. Until I get back, I'm pretty sure he'll be drawing up all sorts of ways to torture you. Which is why I want you to take this," Jon said, pressing a small jar into his palm.

"The oil?" Damian asked.

Jon nodded. "Hide it well. Magnus can't know."

"Alright," Damian said. Jon gave him one last long glance and turned to go. But Damian called after him, "Hey."

Jon turned, looking over his shoulder.

"Be careful, you hear me?" Damian said. "You can get hurt too. Don't forget that."

Jon gave him a small smile. "I remember. Hey, check in on Bella for me while I'm gone, will you?"

Damian smiled. "Promise."


	8. Family Ties

"Awful child, you were, weren't you, Damian?" Magnus asked, twirling his staff in his hand. "Hated everyone. Ooh, I know, let's make a list!"

Damian gritted his teeth and glared down at Magnus the best he could. But he could not look down very much. In fact, he could not move his head at all. A metal ring had been fastened around his neck, with spikes all pointing inwards, digging uncomfortably into Damian's skin. Not enough to cause profuse bleeding, but to dig into his skin just enough so that he could not move his neck without slitting his own throat.

"First, Daddy dearest," Magnus said. "You thought he would accept you for who you were. You were his only real son, after all. But he didn't, did he?" Magnus tsked. The robotic arm in front of Damian's face took up a knife. It pressed against his sternum, then drew lightly over to his left pectoral. The arm then applied pressure and drew downwards.

A cut about three inches, moderately deep, appeared on Damian's chest. He let out a quiet hiss, but nothing more.

"Now, you did not hate Richard Grayson, no, but he bothered you quite a bit at first," Magnus continued. "Always trying to talk to you and hug you and include you in the family that felt nothing like family."

Another cut, slightly to the right of the first.

"You did hate Jason Todd, though," Magnus mused. "He was rarely around, but you hated how, despite being the black sheep of the family, he was more included than you were. He died stupidly and came back to life, but your family still allowed him back."

A third mark.

"Ooh," Magnus laughed. "Now, Timothy Drake you despised. There really was no reason for it, but you hated him so much that you tried to kill him on several occasions. And even then, they took his side. You just had to show your family that you were Daddy's real and only son, didn't you? And in doing so, you showed how much you actually were not like any of them."

A fourth mark, right over the place the knife had cut into over and over again. Damian hated this game. He could not speak since it would require excessive movement of his throat. He wanted to scream at Magnus and tell him he was twisting the truth.

"Then, when you effectively destroyed one side of your family, you moved to the other. You started with your grandfather. You hated him for raising you the way he did. You hated him for hurting your other family, who did not seem to have a place for you in their ranks."

A fifth line. A slight sheen of sweat appeared on Damian's forehead. It was difficult to glare down while keeping his head up at the same time. He struggled with his bonds, but the glowing ropes held him just as tightly as the day before.

"Next, it was Mommy. Mommy, who raised you, who stood up for you several times, whom you betrayed for your father. Wow, Damian, you just get better and better at being a disappointment, don't you?"

A sixth cut. His bare stomach was nearly painted in rivets of red now.

"And that's not even all," Magnus said. "Jealousy runs strong in you, baby bat. Now, Jonathan. You disliked him at first because he was young, stupid, and he was an alien on your planet. And yet, you became friends, such good friends." Magnus smiled smugly. "Until he left. You can't deny that for a while, you hated him for disappearing and leaving you without any clues."

A seventh wound. Seven bleeding cuts, running from one side of his chest to the other. Seven signs of his past failures.

"And to think, Damian, you're only twenty-four. So young, yet so burdened. I think I'd be doing you a favor, killing you, painlessly and fast." Magnus sighed exaggeratedly. "But, I'm a sentimental person. I'm planning on collecting the whole pack before destroying you all together. One last family reunion, eh?" Magnus laughed cruelly.

"Fuck you," Damian rasped, only causing Magnus to laugh louder. He left Damian strung up in the air for the rest of the day.

But as nighttime fell, the ropes slithered back into the walls and Damian crumpled onto the ground once more. The lights in the room started to dim gradually. Damian cast a glance up to Clark and Lois, still hanging there like they were being crucified.

Damian bowed his head a bit in respect before hobbling out of the throne room. He washed himself, enjoying the warm water on his sore wrists and ankles. He cleaned his cuts up, swiping a bit of the balm over them and then pulling on a t-shirt he found lying on the bed.

He stepped out of the bathroom, drying his hair with aching arms. There was a steaming meal on the desk. Were there invisible, magic servants around, or were the robots just really that good? He ate slowly, savoring his only meal of the day. It was quite filling though. Whoever or whatever cooked it did not bother going easy on ingredients.

After, Damian lay on the bed, just staring up at the ceiling for a long time. An hour or two passed before he reached over for the hidden flashlight. Damian walked along the darkened hallway, remembering the way Jon had led him the night before.

He quietly pushed open the door to Jon's room. Jon, as he said, was not inside. Damian quietly made his way over to the door that led to his sister's room.

He turned the doorknob silently and pushed it open.

There was a small gasp.

Damian looked down at the girl who had a toy pony in her right hand and a cowboy doll in her left. She blinked up at Damian, eyes wide.

Damian smiled softly and knelt down in front of her. "Hi, Isabella, right?"

She nodded silently.

"My name is Damian."

"I know who you are," she said.

Damian raised an eyebrow. "You do?"

She nodded enthusiastically, but her face solemn. "You're the angel."

Damian have her an amused look. "The angel?"

Isabella scrambled to her feet. She ran over to the bed and lifted a pillow. She pulled out a folded piece of paper. She ran back over to Damian and held it out to him.

Damian took it from her. The paper was rather thick, but worn at the edges. He opened it up slowly. It was a picture, a very old one.

Isabella pointed to one of the two people in the picture. "See? That's you. The angel."

It was a picture of him and Jon, taken not too long before Jon's disappearance. Dick had taken them out for ice cream, and he took the picture of them. It was rare that Damian smiled for a picture not taken by paparazzi, but this was one of them. He did not even know Dick took the picture, too caught up in laughing at whatever Jon had just said.

"Who said I'm the angel?" Damian asked her.

"Jonny told me. He said you'd come rescue us someday."

"He said that?" Damian asked.

"Yup! That's you, right, Mr. Angel?"

Damian looked at her. She was young, her cheeks chubby, but her eyes bright with hope. She was innocent. He could not take that from her. "Yeah," he said quietly. "That's me."

Isabella smiled widely. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him off balance. Damian choked back a groan. She was really strong for an eight year old.

"Oof," Damian said quietly. But he smiled, reaching up and patting her back.

Isabella pulled back. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she gasped. "I can control my strength, but I usually don't need to with Jon." She smiled shyly, looking up at Damian through her eyelashes. "Can you… Can you read me a story before I got to sleep?"

Damian stood up and smiled down at her. He put a hand on her head. "Sure thing," he said. "Go pick out a book."


	9. 12 Labors

Jon returned with Tim two days later, as he promised. He arrived just before nightfall. Damian was still strung up in the throne room, and Magnus was sitting on said throne, eating grapes. The bowl was held by a robotic arm.

Damian had intricate carvings all up and down his arms and legs. His chest was left alone today, but he did have the Heretic's fork strapped around his neck. It was a double ended fork of two prongs at each end. One end rested between his collarbones, one under his throat. Damian had to hold his head up as far as it would go. If he let it drop, the fork would pierce through his throat and chest at the same time. And he had been strung up there since mid-morning, so his neck was hurting really badly.

Damian saw the portal open, but he could not see much from where his head was tilted towards the ceiling. He heard muffled sounds of struggle. There was a lot of grunting, and finally, after quite a while, he saw the portal wink close out of the corner of his eye.

There was a loud scream of protest, also muffled.

"Welcome back, Jonathan," Magnus said in a smooth voice. "I see you've noticed my newest addition. Alas, it's only temporary. The ropes will drop him in about an hour. But you've brought me the second one, am I right? Timothy…"

Angry muffled sounds. Damian's heart skipped a beat. Tim was here. Jon got Tim. It was either a good thing or a bad thing, Damian did not know yet.

"Oh, Jonathan," Magnus said. "Is that any way to treat a guest? All bound up and gagged?"

"I couldn't control him otherwise," Jon said monotonously.

"At least allow him to speak!"

There was a moment of struggle, then, a loud spitting sound. "I'll kill you for that, you fucker!" Tim's voice screamed. "That's my brother you have there! I swear I'll murder you! Both of you!"

"Now, now, Timothy," Magnus said. "No need to be hostile. You are a guest! Please, Jonathan will show you to your room now. Feel free to use it to your heart's desire." He nodded to Jon. Jon roughly pulled Tim to his feet. "Then, you can come back and collect Damian," Magnus said.

Jon nodded once before he started dragging Tim out of the room, struggling and spitting insults. Damian glared down at Magnus the best he could. The man yawned. "As much as I would like to keep watching you in hopes you'll drop your head, I must turn in for the night."

Damian listened to him shuffle out. A few minutes later, the robotic arm came down, hovering in front of his face. It undid the buckle on the back of Damian's neck, removing the Heretic's fork. Damian let his head drop, groaning loudly. The ropes released him, and he fell to the ground, his cuts stinging.

He was glad at least the poison that made his muscles extremely tense had worn off a while ago. It had made the cuts very painful. Damian lay on the ground for a few moments. Then, Jon came rushing in, immediately going to his side.

"Dami?" Jon asked quietly, easing him up into a sitting position.

"I'm fine," Damian croaked, his throat dry. Not only had he not eaten all day, but he had not had anything to drink either.

"C'mon, let's get you back to your room," Jon said quietly, pulling Damian up.

"Is… Is Magnus…?"

Jon nodded. "I checked. I think he plans on waking earlier tomorrow."

Damian nodded slowly and let Jon help him out of the room. They made their way slowly to Damian's bathroom, where Jon helped him into the bath. Damian was too tired to even bother telling Jon to leave.

"How's Tim?" Damian asked, his throat scratching uncomfortably. Jon pressed a glass of cold water into his hand. Damian drank.

"He's angry," Jon said quietly. "Very upset, actually. But I think the only reason I actually even got him in the first place was because he hadn't slept in a while. He was also being more careful since your disappearance, I'm assuming."

"You didn't- You didn't hurt him, did you?" Damian asked.

Jon shook his head. "No, not really at least. Maybe a bit of bruising, but nothing major, I promise. Much better than your injuries," Jon said, wincing silently. He reached into the water of the bath and picked up Damian's hand. He traced his finger over his palm.

Damian said nothing, just staring at him. Jon met his gaze, then he went red. He dropped Damian's hand back into the water, clearing his throat and looking away. "He's mostly upset," he mumbled. "Same as you, thought we were all dead. And certainly did not approve of me kidnapping you."

Damian laughed. "You didn't try coaxing him with his favorite food?"

Jon scoffed. "I tried, trust me. He wrecked nearly everything in my little hide out. And he did try escaping twice. Luckily, I caught him before he climbed into the tunnel. Tim- Tim worries about you more than he cares to admit, you know?"

Damian smirked. "I've had my suspicions."

Jon rolled his eyes. "Finish your bath. I'm going to fetch some food for you. Then, we'll pay your troublesome brother a visit."

* * *

Jon knocked three times at the door to Tim's room. It was a couple doors down from Damian's.

"Fuck off!" Tim's voice came through. There was a loud crashing noise of something being thrown at the door.

Jon and Damian exchanged a look. Damian let out a small sigh. He rapped the door with his knuckles. "Open the damn door, Drake."

There was no response from Tim this time. Damian knocked again. Then, a tentative voice asked, "Damian?"

"Yes, birdbrain, now open the door."

The heavy door was pulled open a tiny bit. Then, a bit more. "Damian? Holy shit!" Damian was engulfed in a hug before he knew it.

"Tim…" Damian said slowly after a brief moment. "What is the meaning of this?"

Tim pulled away. His eyes flitted to Jon, and they immediately narrowed. "What are you doing with him?" Tim snarled.

"He's my friend," Damian said slowly.

"He kidnapped you. And me."

"Yes, but maybe if you let us inside, we can sit down and everything will be explained."

Tim eyed Jon with loathing before taking a step backwards. "Fine," he snapped. "But one wrong move towards me or my brother and I'll skewer those eyes of yours."

Jon looked a tad disturbed. But even so, they followed Tim into the room, which had been effectively destroyed. A broken chair lay by the door. All the sheets on the bed had been thrown around, the pillows ripped apart, and the food tray was over turned on the ground.

Tim sat down on the table, grabbing a glass that was not broken and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher, which was also untouched.

"Is this safe to drink?" he demanded.

Damian nodded, eyebrows raised. "What's wrong with you, Drake?"

"What's wrong with me?" Tim asked, incredulous. "I haven't slept in three days, that's what's wrong with me! And before that, a few hours each night. After you disappeared, Bruce was frantic. Apparently there was an important meeting with the League you were supposed to be attending with him, but you didn't show up? And when no one had heard from you and your date was found tied up and stashed in a tree, he was berserk."

"What did he do?" Damian asked.

"Nothing, yet. Well, besides doing everything he can to search for you. Alfred managed to talk him down from issuing something short of a national emergency because the Wayne heir had disappeared without a word," Tim snorted. "Everyone's been looking for you nearly nonstop. And then, he shows up, not dead, and kidnaps me and mentions that he kidnapped you…" he trailed off. "You can't blame me for thinking the worst."

Jon sighed. "I'm sorry, Tim," he said. "There's an explanation for it all, I promise."

"It has to do with your parents, right?" Tim asked. "I saw them in the great hall. I'm assuming blackmail?"

Jon blinked. "Uh, yeah, actually."

Tim nodded. "I suspected as much. But there's more to it, yes?"

Jon nodded. "You're… willing to listen?"

"Speak."

So Jon told him pretty much everything. Damian cut in occasionally to correct misconceptions or to mend his own dignity.

But it was an hour to midnight when they finished.

"You should sleep," Damian told Tim. Tim yawned, his eyes red. "Tim said Magnus planned on waking up early tomorrow. I'm assuming he has big plans."

Jon pulled a face. "And his plans usually include a lot of torture, so you really should rest up."

Tim did not argue. He gathered a blanket off the floor and flopped into the bed, burying his face into one of the half deflated pillows.

"Good night, Drake," Damian said.

Tim did not respond.

Jon gently pulled Damian out of Tim's room, walking him back to his own.

"Jon," Damian said. "I had a talk with your sister."

"Really? What did you guys talk about?"

"Angels," Damian said, peering at Jon. "And a certain photograph she keeps under her pillow."

Jon went red. He made a quiet whining sound. "It's- I-"

"She said you said I was an angel, and I would come save you," Damian said softly. They were standing in front of his room now.

Jon would not meet his eyes. "I- I told her to make her feel better. It was the only picture I had, and she found it one day and asked about you."

Damian smirked. "And you told her I was an angel?"

Jon fidgeted. Damian reached for his chin, holding it so Jon had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Jon," he said quietly.

Jon let out a shaky breath. "Okay," he said. "I had this- this crush on you back then. And I missed you a lot, so I said you were an angel because I kind of hero worshiped you. It's stupid, I know, but-"

"Back then?" Damian cut off.

"Wh-What?"

"Back then?" Damian asked again. "Not anymore."

Jon's pupils were dilated. "I…"

Damian smiled, his other hand coming up and resting on Jon's waist, pulling him a step closer. "How long, Jon?" he whispered. Their lips were only a couple inches apart now, and they were flush, chest to chest.

"Since I was twelve," Jon admitted.

Instead of answering, Damian closed the gap between them and kissed Jon on the lips. He opened his mouth a bit, and Jon melted into his arms, complying. The kiss was sloppy and wet, all teeth and tongue. Jon's hands came up into Damian's hair, pulling him closer. Damian did not argue with that.

They both pull away, out of breath, but extremely satisfied.

"Nine years, you've waited to do that?" Damian asked. "Did it meet your standards?" He flashed Jon a wicked grin. "I found it quite satisfactory myself."

"You're such an ass," Jon said, before pulling Damian down for another kiss.

They spent another ten minutes making out against the door. Then, Damian said, "We really should be getting to bed."

Another long kiss.

"Mhm," Jon agreed. "Busy day tomorrow, I'd think."

Yet another kiss.

"Jon, stop, go to your own room."

More kissing.

"Okay, okay, no more," Jon finally conceded, stepping back. Their lips were swollen with spit. Their hair were messes and their eyes blown wide. "Fuck, you look good," Jon murmured.

Damian stepped forward and claimed his mouth again. But a few seconds later, he pulled back. "No, no, we really can't keep dragging this out," Damian said. "We have more time tomorrow night, right?"

Jon smiled. "Yes. More time."

Damian opened his door. "Good night, Jon," he said, giving Jon a wink.

"Night," Jon said, smiling back.

They paused, just staring at each other for another second. Then Jon rushed forward one last time, pressing a hard kiss to Damian's lips, just a split second before he pulled away and disappeared down the hall.

* * *

Damian was standing in the middle of an arena. It was large and circular, with high walls. There were twelve doors around the arena, and Damian narrowed his eyes at them, wondering what could be behind them.

He was dressed in a dark green t-shirt and sweatpants. So it was pretty easy to move around, and he had not been restrained, so he was a bit wary.

Sitting in the stands on one side of the arena, tied to a chair, was Tim. In front of him was a table and a microphone. Across the arena, on the opposite side, Magnus sat in the stands, his legs propped up and eating grapes. Jon stood beside him, slightly behind him.

"Magnus, what is this?" Damian growled loudly.

Magnus chuckled. "A game, of course. A splendid one, if I may say so myself." He swallowed his grape. "See, you, Damian, your forte lies in your physical strength and build. And your brother on the other hand, his strength is up here." Damian saw Magnus tap his head. "So you two must work together to do this." At Damian's scowl, Magnus smiled wider. "Relax," he said. "You'll be doing the hard work, Timothy does the thinking. Easy!"

"So what do you want us to do?" Tim asked, his voice flat. It echoed throughout the arena, due to the microphone sitting in front of him.

"That's for you to figure out, Timothy." Magnus sat forward. "Now, shall we start?" He clapped his hands together. "Ready yourself, Damian. Behind door number one!"

Nothing happened. Damian tensed, watching the door labeled with a large number one. Still, the door did not open. It stayed shut.

Damian glanced up at Magnus, who had leaned back in his chair, looking unruffled, eating his grapes.

Damian waited a little while longer. Still nothing. He looked up at Tim, who glared down into the arena, determined, but slightly confused.

Another half a minute passed, and then, the metal door creaked and rolled open. All Damian could see was a dark tunnel for a couple moments. Then, a loud roar echoed from within the tunnel, and Damian readied himself.

From the mouth of the tunnel, a huge shape came barreling out. Damian jumped out of the way, rolling in the dust as the large creature shook itself and roared again.

Damian looked up to get a good look at the creature. It was about the size of a queen size bed, a good size larger than Damian himself. It turned around, and Damian got a better look at it.

Holy hell, it was a huge mechanical lion. It opened its huge jaw, gears clicking, and showing razor sharp teeth. It then crouched forward, and Damian saw its hind legs literally gearing up to pounce.

"Get out of there!" Tim yelled.

Damian dived out of the way as the lion crashed forward, skidding into another door. It shook its metal head and turned back around.

"Thanks! I got that!" Damian snapped as he climbed back to his feet.

The lion roared once more, its red eyes fixing on Damian once more. Damian turned around and found that he was standing in front of the open tunnel. He gritted his teeth.

"C'mon," Damian said under his breath. The lion came leaping at him once more and Damian threw himself out of the way and the lion crashed into the tunnel. There was a loud crashing noise, followed by an explosion. Damian stared at the dark tunnel for a moment. Then, the door clanked closed.

Damian got back to his feet, dusting his clothes off.

Magnus laughed gleefully from his perch up in the stands.

Damian turned to door two. It did not open like he expected it to. In fact, Damian stood there for a couple minutes, just waiting for the door to open. Damian did not know if it was a technical difficulty, or Magnus wanted to draw out the suspense.

When the door finally opened, it also took a few seconds before his next opponent came out.

It was a huge worm of sorts, about six or seven feet long and at least a foot in diameter. It had no head or tail. Both ends of the worm was just a giant, sucking mouth filled with sharp teeth. The leech-like creature slowly made its way towards Damian.

"What is that?" Tim asked from his spot.

"Don't know!" Damian grunted, keeping a wary eye on the slow creature. "But how do I kill it is the question?"

"Uhh," Tim sounded slightly unsure. "Wait! In the tunnel!" He said. "There's something else in the tunnel!"

Damian made its way around the leech and peered into the tunnel. Sure enough, something glimmered in there. He walked inside slowly and reached for the object. It was a sword.

"Great!" Tim said. "Just- Just slice the leech in half and stab it a few times."

Damian looked unsure of himself. "With this?" he asked. "I don't use swords, Tim," he said.

"It's no different from your katana," Tim said dryly.

"Yes, it is," Damian gritted out, still eyeing the leech, which was starting towards him again. "The weight is totally off."

Tim just sighed. "Just stab the thing already!"

Damian rolled his eyes, swinging the sword a couple times. Then, he darted in with a quick breath, slicing straight through the leech's body. It fell to the ground, writhing and hissing. Damian grimaced at the black blood on the sword. He turned up towards Tim. "Happy?" he grumbled.

"Damian!" Tim yelled.

Damian spun around just in time to see a leech head coming towards him. Its mouth bit down on his shoulder. Damian grunted, stabbing the sword back into its neck area. The leech let go, hissing. Damian backed away a couple steps.

There were two leeches now, each with independent ends, complete with two mouths each. Thankfully, their teeth were not very big, so they did not sink very deep into his shoulder. Even so, his t-shirt was soaking up blood. He swung the sword, cutting another one in half.

"No!" Tim yelled.

"Why?!" Damian screamed back.

"Because they'll just multiply!" he yelled. As Tim said, the leech he cut in half started wiggling and growing new mouths from the stumps. Damian watched in horror.

"Then how do I kill them?!" Damian asked, jumping out of the way. "They're also faster the smaller they get!"

"I don't- I don't know!" Tim yelled back. Just then, mechanical arms came out of the ceiling and plucked the worms out of the arena, tossing them back into the tunnel and snatching the sword as well. Door number two closed.

"What?" Damian muttered under his breath. He had not finished killing the leech creatures yet. He glanced up towards Magnus, who still looked overly smug. Jon looked a tad bit confused. He also had no idea what was going on.

It took even longer for the third door to open. This time, a huge butterfly flew out. It soared over Damian's head, making no move to hurt him, however. So Damian just stood in the center of the arena, staring up at the creature with an eyebrow slightly raised. For a few minutes, nothing at all happened. Then, it flew its way back into the tunnel and door three closed.

Damian was getting more and more confused by the moment. "Have you figured it out yet?" he asked Tim.

Tim had a concentrated look on his face. He shook his head slowly. "Not yet."

The rest of the doors opened, in numerical order, with increasing amounts of time between each. The time the creatures stayed out was also longer.

Behind the fourth door was a huge mechanical bird, unable to fly, but clawing and swiping at Damian faster than the lion had.

The fifth door shows a huge pile of rotting trash. It stayed open for five minutes, with everyone in the arena and the stands cringing at the smell. Even Magnus looked slightly disgusted.

The sixth door opened to a bunch of small, but extremely fast birds. They darted around the arena, shrieking. They also attacked Damian, nipping his skin and leaving long bloody scratches on his arms.

A minute into the relentless attacks, Tim yelled, "I got it!"

"Then tell me!" Damian growled, swatting at a bird.

"You can't do anything about it now," Tim said quickly. "You'll have to go through all twelve doors before starting over again! The twelve doors are loose representations of the twelve labors of Hercules! But each door holds the key to defeating the next door!"

"So I'll have to live through all this again?" Damian asked, wincing as small bird sliced open his thigh.

"Yes," Tim said. "And each door open stays open for a certain amount of time. Door one stays open for a minute, door two for two minutes, and so on. Additionally, that is the amount of time between the opening of each door."

Magnus clapped, chuckling loudly. "Bravo, Timothy! You've figured it out. I expected it to take you longer, but it was fun while it lasted. Now, it's just up to Damian here to stay alive."

Six minutes ended, and the birds shot back into their door. Damian took a moment, catching his breath and glaring up at Magnus, who just leered down at him.

The seventh door held a crazy bull.

The eighth door concealed a blood-thirsty horse.

The ninth had a tiny monkey that held whip. But it did not attack Damian.

The tenth door just released a herd of seemingly harmless sheep.

The eleventh revealed a large tree with a sleeping mechanical dragon curled around its base.

And the twelfth door hid a huge dog that growled and snapped at Damian. Dodging it for twelve minutes was not an easy feat.

By the time the dog returned to its door, Damian was exhausted. He slid down against one of the walls, between doors three and four.

"You only have a minute before door one opens again," Tim said.

"I already defeated the lion, Tim," Damian said irritably.

"Just in case," Tim said.

Sure enough, the lion lay in a jumbled heap of mechanical parts.

"Okay, look for something in there that can help you beat the leeches," Tim said.

Damian sorted through the scraps, kicking pieces aside. He only had a minute, so he did it as quickly as possible. He slid under the door just as it came down. He grinned up at Tim and held up a torch in his hand. He pressed a button on it, and it lit up in flames.

"Great!" Tim said. "Then just burn those leeches!"

And that was what Damian did. He pulled a net out of the black leech blood, using it to trap the butterfly from the third door.

Then, the large bird ate the butterfly and promptly exploded, but left a shovel. Damian then spent four minutes desperately shoveling through a giant mountain of rotten trash, uncovering a bow and a quiver of arrows, that were covered in slime and rotting food.

He easily brought down the killer birds with the arrows. One of the birds had been carrying a saddle in its talons. He tamed the bull, fed the bull to the flesh-eating horse, cut off some horse hair and braided it in exchange for the monkey's whip (that was hard, considering he did not speak fluent monkey), and herded the sheep back into the tunnel, but not before finding the sword attached to one of the sheep's underbelly.

With the sword, Damian slayed the metal dragon, obtained an odd red ball from the tree the dragon was guarding, and oddly enough, managed to subdue the large dog with the ball.

When the dog returned to its tunnel, Damian turned up to Magnus.

"There!" he said. "I completed your stupid game! I won, Magnus."

"So you did," Magnus said. "But this is the first of many games, Damian. So consider this practice."

* * *

Jon gently applied the balm to Damian's burns and cuts. He then wrapped up the wounds, despite Damian's protests. Tim sat on Damian's bed, frowning up at the ceiling.

They were silent the entire time. Food was brought in by robots, and they also ate in silence. Jon then left to check on Isabella. But he returned once Magnus went to bed.

"Jon," Tim said as soon as Jon closed the door. "I have a solution."

Jon's face was puzzled. "To what?"

Tim smiled wickedly. "Well, I figured out a way to break your parents out."


	10. Escape

They discussed plans for a couple hours that night. But Damian was tired after that day's events, so Tim left his room. Jon stayed behind to say good-night.

He helped Damian into bed, even though Damian really was not in that bad shape. He just had several cuts and bruises and his muscles felt like they were going to tear. Mostly, it was just sore.

"You're okay?" Jon asked, pulling the covers up to Damian's chin.

Damian rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes," he said. "You're such a mom, Jon. I'm not Isabella. I can go to bed myself."

Jon quirked a small smile. "Sure? I'm not opposed to reading you a bedtime story."

Damian snorted, but it ended weakly when it morphed into a yawn. Jon laughed. His hand was resting on Damian's chest, and Damian could nearly feel them through the covers.

"Go to sleep," Jon said softly. He smoothed Damian's hair back like he did often with his sister. He was quiet for a moment, letting his fingers fall from Damian's hair and lightly trailing down the side of his cheek. "Tomorrow," he said. "I'm going to go get Dick."

Damian nearly sat up in alarm. "But you just returned yesterday!"

"I know," Jon said quietly. "And I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you mention this earlier?" Damian asked. "We would have to push our plans back now."

Jon shook his head. "But Tim was so excited. I- I didn't want to ruin it."

Damian shook his head, leaning back into the pillows. "You're too nice, Jon."

Jon gave him a small smile. "Sleep, Dami."

He turned to go, but Damian reached out and grabbed his wrist. Jon stopped and turned back around.

"Stay," Damian said sleepily.

"I- What?"

"Stay," he repeated. "With me, tonight."

Jon hesitated. But he looked at the way Damian watched him from half-lidded eyes, lashes long and the small smile making him look rather coy.

"Okay," Jon said. He went around the side of the bed, and Damian turned to his body to face him. Jon lifted the covers and climbed in slowly, watching Damian the entire time.

Damian reached out and almost immediately pulled Jon into his arms. He hissed quietly. "Your feet are fucking cold, Kent," he whispered, but still held Jon tightly.

Jon could not stop the rapid beating of his heart and the sudden alertness. His cheeks were definitely heating up though. "Damian…"

"Sleep, Jon," Damian said.

"But-"

"Then, shut up and let me sleep," Damian growled, nipping at Jon's earlobe. Then, he licked it once, soothing the sharp sting. "Sorry."

Jon found himself smiling. "It's okay," he said. He turned around in Damian's arms. Their faces were just a couple inches apart. "This is okay… right?"

Damian smiled, his eyes closed. "Yeah," he said quietly. Then, he leaned in and kissed Jon, holding it for a few seconds. "Absolutely okay."

Then, he drifted off the sleep.

* * *

Jon woke up early the next morning, jostling Damian awake in the process. They both sat in the bed, covers pooling around their waists.

"You're leaving?" Damian asked.

Jon nodded. "Yeah, sorry."

Damian was silent for a moment. "Jon, I have an idea."

"Hm?"

"Magnus basically trusts you, right?"

"As much as he can trust anyone."

"I'm going to ask you to betray his trust."

"What?!" Jon asked. "Dami, you know-"

"Hear me out, Jon," Damian interrupted. "Tim and I will keep him distracted while you're on Earth. And I need you find Dick, and have him send a message to my father. Get them both to the portal, in three days' time. Meanwhile, Tim and I will get your parents and your sister ready. We'll overpower Magnus, because there's no way he can take all of us. It can work, Jon. You just have to trust me."

"I trust you," Jon said. "But… it's my parents' lives, Dami. And my sister. I can't have her get hurt."

"She won't," Damian said. "I swear, on my life. We'll get them all out safely. Just bring Dick and my father, please."

Jon stared at Damian for a long time, green and blue pinning each other, having silent conversations. Jon finally let out the breath he was holding. "Okay," he said, his voice cracking. "I'll trust you."

Damian broke out into a smile. "Thank you, Jon. I swear your family won't get hurt. I'll ensure it myself. I would go as far as dying to protect them."

Jon took a sharp breath. His eyes became alarmed. "Don't- Don't risk your own life, Dami," he pleaded. Damian was surprised by the urgency in his voice. "Please, don't. Just protect them, but don't… don't die doing it." Jon closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his head against Damian's shoulder. "When Magnus first took us, I was so scared he was going to go after you next. I was terrified that you might die too. That I wasn't there to protect you and you would die. So please, please don't…"

Damian's eyes widened. "Okay, okay," he said quickly. "I won't," he promised. "I'll protect them with everything I can." Then he paused. "I can promise that much for your parents at least."

"What does that mean?"

"Isabella. I'm not going to stand aside and watch a little girl die, Jon," Damian said fiercely. "If it comes to it, I will give my life for her."

Jon opened his mouth, then he shut it, looking torn. He obviously loved his sister very much. But he loved Damian too.

"Fair," he finally choked out. "But… try not to die?"

Damian smiled, pulling Jon in for a brief kiss. "I promise."

Jon nodded. "Okay," he said. "I'm going to go say goodbye to Bella, and then I'll be off."

Damian watched him climb out of the bed. "Be safe, Jon," he called after him. "See you in a few days."

* * *

That night, after Magnus was asleep, Tim and Damian snuck into the throne room. It was pitch black inside, save for the red and blue glowing lights of the capsules that entrapped Clark and Lois.

"Okay, what do we do?" Damian asked, keeping his voice quiet, despite the lack of people around to hear them.

Tim eyed the capsules. "I'll need a boost."

Damian let Tim climb onto his still sore shoulders, standing on top of him. Tim worked with some sort of mechanism at the back of the capsules.

"Hey, hand me that key, will you?" Tim asked.

"Key?" Damian looked up at him. "What key?"

"The one in the little pouch I set on that throne," Tim said.

Damian reached over, grabbing the pouch. He opened it and pulled out a key. It was more of a horseshoe shaped thing with different shapes cut into and jutting out of the main ring. He handed it up to Tim.

"Perfect," Tim muttered. A moment later, there was a light hissing noise, and the door opened. Damian let Tim down, and they both watched as the light in the capsule flickered and went out.

Tim shined the flashlight up, looking into the now dark capsule. A couple seconds of strained silence, then, a dark heap fell from the inside of the capsule. Tim and Damian both rushed to catch him, but Clark collapsed onto the ground in a rather undignified heap.

Damian scooped up the fallen flashlight, pointing its beam into Clark's face.

"Hello?" Damian asked. "Mr. Kent?"

"Clark!" Tim said forcefully, tapping Clark's chest hard. He still did not respond.

Tim pressed an ear to his chest. "He's alive," Tim said after a moment. "But weak. I think the red light was actually an imitation of the red radiation that sucks up his powers."

Damian made a soft growling noise. "We can't just leave him here!" he whisper-yelled. "And we can't get him back into the capsule either!"

Tim frowned. "Well, I remember that Kon used to regain his powers within an hour or so of them being completely sapped, usually from Kryptonite. But I don't know how long it would take in this case. Clark's been there for eight years after all."

Just as he said that, Clark's eyes snapped open, and he sat up, nearly colliding heads with Damian. His hands found the front of Tim's shirt, pulling him in, eyes glowing red.

"Woah!" Tim exclaimed. "Clark, Clark, it's me!"

Clark's eyes dimmed. They faded to blue and a very confused expression overcame the initial anger. "…Tim?"

"Yes!"

Clark then turned to Damian. His eyes narrowed and he leaned in a bit. "D-Damian?!"

"Mr. Kent," Damian said with a curt nod, frowning at the fact he nearly had his nose broken.

"Wh-What's happening? Where am I? I remember being kidnapped… Lois! Jon!" Clark's eyes widened and he started sitting up. "What year is it? You don't look the same."

"Hey, hey," Tim said, raising his hands. "Look, there's a lot going on, and we're going to try to explain it the best we can, okay? Yes, you were kidnapped. We haven't gotten Lois out of her capsule yet, but we wanted to see if you still had your powers first. Jon is perfectly fine. Isabella is also fine."

Clark made a face. "Isabella? Who's Isabella?"

Tim looked equally confused. "Your… daughter?"

"My daughter?"

Damian groaned. "He wasn't there for the birth," he said. "Fuck, okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "When you guys were kidnapped, Lois was pregnant. You were immediately put into the capsule, but Lois was allowed to carry out her pregnancy. It was a girl, Jon named her Isabella Hope Kent, and she's now eight years old. Which means, you've been unconscious for eight years."

Clark's eyes widened as he tried to process this. "And… And Earth?"

Tim made a face. "She's pretty much the same. But your disappearance did cause a lot of grief within the superhero community. No one could figure out where you all disappeared to. Not even Bruce."

"Then… what are you doing here?" Clark asked.

Damian laughed humorlessly. "Funny thing. See, your son was blackmailed into working for the person that kidnapped you, this vile man named Magnus. Jon was basically his errand boy, but not for running errands. For kidnapping, assassinating, and very rarely running errands. And Tim and I were his first two to be kidnapped."

"Why?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Tim said. "Magnus wants to take over the universe. And he thinks that killing all the superheroes will prevent anyone from stopping him. So he kidnapped your family, now he's kidnapping ours."

"Um… okay," Clark managed. He was obviously overwhelmed with everything.

Tim looked reluctant to pile more on him. "So… do your powers work?"

Clark flexed his fingers. "Not really," he said. "I can feel them, and I feel like I can use them, but they don't… work."

"Maybe it'll take a while," Tim said.

"We don't have a while," Damian insisted. "Jon's going to be back in a day and a half."

"So what do we do?" Tim asked. "We can't arouse Magnus' suspicions." Then, his eyes lit up. "I can alter the settings on the capsules. Leave the red light on, but turn off the radiation." He then turned to Clark. "You'll have to hang in that capsule for another couple days," he said apologetically. "Regain your powers then, and when Jon gets back with Dick and Bruce, we'll take on Magnus and get you home."

Clark looked up at the capsule. Then, he looked at the other one. "Lois! Is she…?"

"We don't know yet. There's something different keeping her unconscious," Tim said. "But we'll undo that too, and see if she regains consciousness soon."

Tim worked all night, altering the capsules' settings. They took Lois out of her capsule, but she never woke up. Clark sat by her side, holding her hand the entire time that they worked.

As morning approached, Clark had to go back into the capsule and play dead in the false red radiation as his strength slowly seeped back into him. Lois did not have to pretend, though she was no longer being held by her capsule.

The next day, when Magnus tortured the two of them, stringing them up side by side, he did not notice anything awry.

* * *

The next night, the night before Jon's return, Damian talked with Isabella. He did his best to explain the basics of what was going to happen without scaring her. She listened attentively, pausing her adventures with her dolls.

Damian helped her gather some of her clothes, her favorite toys, a couple books, and the picture of him and Jon into the large black backpack. He was tucking her into bed, finishing up the bedtime story when the door to her room creaked open.

Damian turned, expecting Tim, but the shape was too small and too fat.

"Well, well," Magnus' voice leered. "Planning an escape, are we?"


	11. Better Late Than Never

When Jon stepped through the portal, Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne a step behind him, all geared up for battle, he was not ready for the scene that awaited him.

As Jon's eyes scanned the throne room, it immediately made him sick.

Damian was strung up, ropes much tighter than previously, now cutting off circulation to his wrists and feet. He was barely conscious. Knife handles stuck out of his left shoulder and his stomach. A puddle of blood had collected on the floor below him. But he was alive. Jon could hear his heartbeat.

Magnus sat on his throne, a large plate of different finger foods in front of him. To the right of the room, between Magnus and Damian, Tim was tied to a pillar, definitely unconscious, and Isabella clung to him, terrified.

All in all, it was not good.

Bruce spotted Damian and immediately stepped towards him.

"I wouldn't do that!" Magnus said loudly.

Bruce froze, glaring at him from behind his white lenses.

Magnus smiled. "Bruce Wayne. I was not expecting your company for another week, but welcome anyway! And Jonathan, my dear boy, you will certainly regret betraying me," he said. It worried Jon and Magnus did not sound worried.

"Let my son down," Bruce growled.

"No can do," Magnus said cheerily. "But you make a move, and he dies. Simple."

During that exchange, Dick had skirted around the room and was crouched by Tim's side. He spoke reassuringly to Isabella.

"Now, Jonathan," Magnus said, turning his attention back. "Because you betrayed me, I will now kill your family. And your friend, Damian."

"No!" Jon cried out. "Please, no."

Magnus raised an eyebrow. "And why not? You did break your end of the deal, did you not?"

Jon's eyes filled with tears. They had failed. They had not succeeded and now they will all pay with their lives. He glanced up at Damian, then over to Isabella. "Please don't," he pleaded again. "Not them."

"Hm," Magnus said, pretending to think. "I'll consider it if you do exactly what I say," he offered. "Tie up Bat Senior."

Jon turned slowly, giving Bruce and apologetic look.

"Jon," Bruce said warningly. "Don't listen to him."

"I'm sorry," Jon said, shaking his head. Then, he moved fast. Bruce fought back, but he was much older than he used to be. He was no longer as fast, no longer as skilled. He mostly worked doing monitor work at the Watchtower now, instead of going out on missions. He managed to get Bruce tied up in some conveniently provided glowing rope.

Tears were falling from his eyes now and Jon could not see very well anymore. "I'm sorry," he said again as he advanced on Dick.

Dick was harder and more elusive than Bruce, but he had been caught off guard after fussing over Tim and Isabella.

When it was done, Jon dropped to his knees. "There," he said bitterly.

"Thank you, Jonathan!" Magnus said happily.

"Please don't kill them," Jon said quietly, sniffling.

"Well, see, I said I'd consider it. And I have. The answer is no."

Jon leapt to his feet. There was a sickening sound of flesh being impaled. Jon spun around in horror, seeing Damian's limp body with a thick spear thrust through him.

"NO!" Jon screamed. He saw red. He could not help it. He was moving without knowing what he was doing anymore. In half a second, he was on Magnus, ripping the man off his throne.

Then, he punched Magnus in the face so hard Jon's arm shook with pain. He dropped Magnus' body, hearing it thump to the ground. Jon stumbled backwards, as if suddenly brought back to reality.

There was blood all over his arm, all over the ground. Jon's eyes went wide with horror.

He had just decapitated Magnus with a punch.

The man's head lay several feet away from the body, lying on its side, blood pooling around it. Jon felt sick to the stomach. He promptly turned around and threw up.

Then, he remembered Damian. He flies up until he's level with Damian. He frees him, bringing him down and lying him on the ground. With shaking hands, Jon removes the spear, his heart skipping a beat when Damian does not even jerk. But his heartbeat still kept going, sluggishly and gradually slower.

Jon reached into his pocket to pull out the small vial of the balm he kept with him. He tore open the rest of Damian's shirt, letting out a quiet sob at the sight of Damian's torso, all torn open and bloody. He worked quickly, but with shaking hands, applying the balm to the worst of the wounds. Then, he just sat back and prayed it was enough.

Jon went around, untying everyone. Isabella clung to him, sobbing, and Bruce had rushed to Damian's side. Tim was still unconscious, and by the looks of it, so were Jon's parents.

"Shh," Jon said, patting Isabella's back, ignoring the bloody prints he was getting on her shirt. "It's okay now, baby," he said gently.

When Tim came to, he quickly broke into the capsules again. Apparently Magnus had figured out that the capsules had been broken into and he had turned the radiation back on. Clark regained consciousness quicker than before, still slightly disoriented, but he remembered everything still.

Jon and Isabella hugged Clark, both of them sobbing messily into the red and blue costume. Clark comforted them the best he could, getting rather teary himself. Lois was still unconscious, but Tim was working on the best way to revive her.

Bruce announced that Damian was stable for times' being, but he needed to get to a doctor.

Jon reluctantly pulled away from his father, completely overwhelmed by emotions. First, he nearly lost his entire family. Then, he killed a man with a single punch in front of said family. But then, he ended up saving them all.

As Tim worked on opening the portal, everyone else helped each other get their bearings for the travel back to Earth.

Magnus' body had tried to crawl towards its head, but with all its bones broken and the slop, slop, slop of bloody sounds made it pretty obvious. Dick came up with the idea to lock his body and his head in separate capsules, suspending them next to each other, but unable to escape.

They took the key with them.

And so, with Clark carrying Lois, Dick carrying Isabella, Tim leaning on Bruce, and Damian in Jon's arms, they each stepped through the portal, this time into the cave under Wayne Manor.

Damian was immediately swept into the infirmary by Alfred, who worked quickly to stitch him up. Jon paced outside worriedly, carrying his now sleeping sister in his arms.

Lois had also been placed in the infirmary, on a bed with a couple machines keeping her vitals in check. She was alive, and she seemed to be well, but she would not wake. Clark would not leave her side.

"You can put her in one of the guest rooms if you'd like," Bruce said.

Jon turned.

Bruce was still wearing his suit, but he had taken the cowl and cape off. He nodded at Isabella. "She might be more comfortable in a bed."

Jon studied Bruce for a moment.

The man had definitely started showing signs of age in the past eight years. While he was still quite handsome in his early fifties, he certainly was not what he used to be. His hair was streaked with grey and the beginning signs of wrinkles were showing around his eyes and mouth. He was still tip top shape, but not as flexible and invulnerable as before.

His blue eyes shown with understanding. "They'll still be here when you get back," he said softly. He peered through the glass window of the infirmary. He looked at Damian, lying pale on the bed while Alfred finished up the last stitches, and then on the other side of the room, Clark and Lois.

"Jon," Bruce said, "What happened today is not your fault. You risked a lot bringing us there, and you saved everyone."

Jon grimaced. "Don't bother giving me that speech," he said. "There's blood on my hands now, and no matter what I do, there will always be blood on my hands."

Bruce was quiet for a moment. They both watched Alfred work, calmly and efficiently. "We've all done things we regret. There's blood on the hands of all of us. But we learn to work past it. We have to, at some point."

"I killed people, Bruce."

"So did Damian," Bruce said. "He turned out alright, didn't he?"

Jon's eyes slid to Damian. His heartbeat had steadied, and he was breathing easier as well. He still looked like crap though. Jon smiled a little. "Yeah, he did."

Bruce gave him an unexpected pat on the shoulder. "There you have it. Now go put your sister upstairs. She's had a long day."

Jon watched Bruce go, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. When he was younger, he had spent heaven knows how many nights listening to Damian complain about his father. Jon had always been especially careful around Bruce then, but he really did not seem all that bad now.

Maybe it really was all just the stress of being Batman. Now that he was retired, maybe he had mellowed out and actually learned now to be a father.

Jon turned back to Damian. He was going to be okay. They both were going to be okay. And now that all that was over, maybe they could find a way to work through things again. Be friends, hopefully something more?

Jon smiled, shifting Isabella slightly.

After all, everything was better late than never.


	12. EPILOGUE: When Wedding Bells Ring

_TWO MONTHS LATER_

"Kent! You get your ass back here!" Damian yelled, bolting after his best friend, boyfriend, and ultimate pain in the ass.

Jon flew backwards through the halls, keeping an eye on Damian, laughing and taunting him while flipping through Damian's sketchbook. "Ooh, look at this one!" He turned the book around to show Damian. "Scandalous! Don't want anyone finding this, do you?" It was a picture of Jon, wearing sweatpants hanging low on his hips and without a shirt. He was yawning and stretching, and his hair was a mess. It was obviously drawn after he had just woken up someday.

"Give that back, you half-blood alien!" Damian screamed. Jon was flying only fast enough to keep out of Damian's reach.

"And this one! Hah! I thought you couldn't stand Jason!"

"Argh!"

Jon flew into the foyer, floating in the middle of the large room.

Damian seethed at him from the stairway, eyes narrowed and breathing hard. He had woken up to find Jon going through his various sketchbooks, smiling as he flipped through the drawings. He had chased Jon through the Manor, and now, with Jon floating in the foyer, Damian had no way to reach him.

Jon flipped to yet another page. "Ooh, this one's pretty," he said. "Gotham at night. In watercolor."

"Give. It. Back," Damian hissed.

"I'm admiring your work, Damian," Jon said, an easy smile on his face. "You never let me see. And I don't get what you're so embarrassed about. Sure, there are a lot of shirtless men in here, but I don't mind seeing that!"

With another yell, Damian launched himself over the banister and at Jon. He saw Jon's eyes widen with surprise, rushing forward to catch him. Damian landed in Jon's arms, and he immediately snatched the sketchbook away.

"Jeez, Damian!" Jon said, his face now void of amusement. "You could've broken your neck if you'd landed wrong!"

Damian rolled his eyes, hugging his sketchbook to his chest. "I do this every night, Kent. Now put me down. I have stuff to do."

Jon set him down back on the stairs, dropping lightly beside him. He followed as Damian walked back through the hall towards his room.

"Did you eat breakfast yet?" Jon asked.

"No," Damian said grumpily. "I just spent my entire morning chasing you around to get my sketchbook back."

"I think you should eat something," Jon said. "I noticed that Alfred was making pancakes when we passed the kitchen half an hour ago."

Damian dropped his sketchbook on his desk before walking out of his room again, closing the door firmly behind him.

"What kind of pancakes?"

"Blueberry and chocolate. Not together."

Damian grunted his approval. Jon smiled. "You're starting to sound more and more like your father," he said.

"And you're starting to sound more and more like yours," Damian grumbled in response. "I sure hope your sister turns out to be more like your mother. I can't have a family of in-laws that all have no sense of humor."

Jon made a happy noise. "In-laws already? Why, Damian, of course I'll marry you!"

Damian snorted. "I said no such thing."

Jon just smiled wider. He bumped shoulders with Damian, taking his hand as well. Damian laced their fingers together. "I'll wait however long I have to for you, you know?" Jon asked, softly, almost as if he were talking to himself more than Damian.

Damian was silent for a few seconds before his voice also dropped down to Jon's level, softening as well. "I know."

"No, really, Dami," Jon said. "I've loved you for such a long time. I can wait a little longer."

Damian pressed a light kiss to his cheek. "I know you will. I don't doubt you, Jon. And I don't doubt that we'll get there. Someday."

Jon nodded. "Someday."

They entered the kitchen. Clark was sitting there, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee.

"Morning, boys," he said, yawning. He gave them a tired smile.

"Did you stay up all night again?" Jon asked with a disapproving frown, letting go of Damian's hand to grab two mugs.

"Most of the night."

"And how is Mom?" Jon asked, handing Damian one cup of coffee. Alfred silently set down two plates of pancakes. Blueberry for Damian, chocolate chip for Jon. "Thank you," Jon said, reaching for the syrup.

Clark just shrugged. Jon made a grim face. Lois had been in a coma-like state for the past two months. There was little change in her state, though she appeared to only be asleep. Nothing seemed to be wrong. Bruce said that it was all up to her to wake up now. Clark stayed by her side most of the day, usually only coming out of the cave for food or spending some time with Jon and Isabella.

"Bella was asking for you last night," Jon told his father. "You should go watch cartoons with her for the rest of the morning."

Clark pulled a face. "But-"

"I'll check on Mom," Jon promised. "Seriously, take a break. Get some sleep too."

Clark sighed. He gave Jon a grateful smile. "Okay." Then he turned towards Damian. "I'm so sorry we're just staying with you for such a long time. Bruce is still drawing up new documents for us, and I think we'll be out of your hair soon-"

"I really don't mind," Damian said, drinking all his coffee before picking up the knife and fork for his pancakes. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need to. There are more rooms in the Manor than the ones that are actually used. Besides," Damian pulled a face. "Without you guys, it's usually just me now. Dick and Tim have their own places in Bludhaven and New York City, and Jason comes home twice a year. Bruce is in space most of the time, only dropping by once a week. I don't mind the company too much." He cast Jon a glance. Jon gave him a cheeky smile.

Clark nodded. "I just don't want to intrude."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Mr. Kent, I couldn't kick you out if I wanted to. Father would have my head."

Clark chuckled. "You're right. He probably would." He nodded at Alfred. "Thank you, Alfred, again."

"Of course, Master Clark," Alfred said. Damian rolled his eyes. Ever since Alfred found out about Damian and Jon's relationship, he started calling all the Kents by titles he reserved for the family. And no one questioned it.

Clark left the kitchen with the rest of his coffee, going to look for Isabella. Jon and Damian finished in comfortable silence.

They started down towards the cave, walking slowly, hand in hand again. Damian enjoyed days like this. Where there was nothing important to do, and he could just wander around with Jon.

Damian felt that a hole that he had not even known was there had been filled when Jon came back into his life for good. He felt happy and truly content again.

They walked down to the cave, into the infirmary, where Lois was still lying on the bed she was set down on two months ago. Jon sat down in the seat Clark usually sat in, and Damian stood behind him.

Jon took his mother's hand, stroking her pale skin. "Hey, Mom," he said. "How are you doing today? You seem okay," he said. "Everyone else is well, too. Damian and I are planning on getting married someday, you know that?"

Damian gently shoved his shoulder, and Jon gave him a smile. Damian looked away to hide his own smile.

"And I would really love if you would be there. You'd want to plan all of it, I know," Jon said fondly. He was quiet for a beat. "It would be really nice if you woke up," he said. "I know I tell you this nearly every day, but Bruce said it would be good for you to hear it, if you even can hear me. Isabella has been asking to see you as well. We've brought her down to see you a few times, but the cave scares her a bit. You should see her, Mom. She's an amazing kid," Jon said.

He stopped after that, so Damian picked it up. "She really is," Damian said. "She looks like you, actually. And I'm hoping she has your wicked sense of humor and doesn't end up with Jon's. Your son is pretty exceptional as well. Definitely not the boy he used to be," Damian said. He squatted down next to the bed and took Jon's other hand. Jon smiled down at him, and Damian kissed the back of his hand. "Come back to your family, Mrs. Kent."

Jon smiled, suddenly choked up. He swallowed hard. "Yeah, Mom," he finally said. "We all miss you a lot."

Then, Jon heard the slight jump of her heartbeat. He tensed, sitting up straighter.

"What?" Damian asked. "What is it?"

Jon kept listening. Then, the little skip came again. Her heartbeat sped up a bit, her breathing becoming less deep, as if she were gradually waking up.

Jon stood suddenly. "Mom? Can you- Can you hear me?"

A few seconds passed. Clark burst into the room, carrying Isabella, his eyes wide. "I heard-"

Jon nodded. They both gathered around Lois, Isabella also peering down at her mother curiously.

Damian took a step back to give the family space. Then, there was a weak groan.

"Mom!"

"Lo!"

"...Clark? J-Jon?" came a weak, scratchy voice.

"Hey," Clark said, kneeling. He was teary-eyed. "Hey."

Jon got Lois some water, and once she had become less disoriented, she started asking questions, like the reporter that never left her. Damian watched from a distance, a small smile on his face.

Jon and Clark took turns explaining things while Isabella curled up by her mother's side. Tears of happiness were shed throughout the stories, and it was Damian who held the box of tissues.

Finally, when everyone had finally gotten a hold of themselves, Damian decided it was probably time for them to discuss what they'd do next. He stood up silently, heading for the door. They deserved some time alone. As he opened the door however, he heard a voice call from behind him.

"Mr. Wayne?"

Damian turned. Lois beckoned him over with a wave of her hand.

"Damian, please," he said.

Lois rolled her eyes. "Of course," she scoffed. Her voice was still scratchy, but it did not seem to bother her. "I practically raised you besides my own son. You don't think I know your name? I'm just repaying you for 'Mrs. Kent'." She gave him a pointed look. "You used to call me Mom."

Damian blushed a little.

Lois pursed her lips and looked him up and down, making a content sound. "Now, I don't know if I was dreaming, but I thought I heard something about a wedding?"


End file.
